


Bashert

by Lady Belarvs (fightthosefairies)



Category: The L Word
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 13:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightthosefairies/pseuds/Lady%20Belarvs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of vignettes at various points along the timeline of Shane and Jenny's relationship, filling in holes through Jenny's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ever So Far

"Jenny." 

I love the way you say my name. 

"Jenny?"

I lift my head up from where it's resting against the window and turn it so that I can look at you. You've got that worried look on your face again. I hate it that I've made you so afraid of leaving me alone with my own thoughts. As if you know about the monsters and are trying to keep me away from them. "Yeah?"

"So you'll call me, right? When you get there?" You ask, hooded eyes darting away from mine to look at the road for a moment. 

"Yeah, I will," I say, nodding slowly. I smile, trying to get you to smile, to make that worried look go away. You do smile, but it's not the smile that I love to see. Your concern for me has contaminated that, too. Infected it. I wonder if you'll always look at me this way from now on. I hope not. "Hey. I'm gonna be okay."

"I know," you say quietly. "You are. You are gonna be okay." You're saying it to reassure yourself just as much as you are to reassure me. I really did scare you.

"I am," I say, feeling laughter stirring in my chest. It escapes and I cover my mouth with my hand. 

"What?" You ask, glancing over at me, a curious glint in your eye. You let out an uneasy chuckle. "What's funny?"

"Nothing," I say, after I've let my hand fall back into my lap. I twist my fingers together, trying to ignore the nagging sting of the bandaged cuts on my thighs. I remember your hands, that day... shaking... as you pressed a towel to the cuts. You're the kind of woman who mends broken birds' wings. You have such patience and compassion inside you. It's one of the reasons I love you so much. 

"Promise me you'll call if you need anything?"

"I promise," I reply and draw a cross over my heart with my fingertip. I lace my fingers together in my lap and bow my head. My hair is conspicuous, for once, by its absence. I miss it. I miss the shelter it could give me when I wanted it to. I reach up and run my fingers through my bangs. "I wish you could have cut my hair for me again before I left," I say softly, sadly tugging at the strands. "It'll be a fucking mess by the time I get back."

"So I'll cut it for you then." I look over at you and you give me a small smile. Still not the one I was hoping for, but definitely better than the worried look. "When you get back." Your eyes turn back to the road. "If you still want me to."

"I might," I say, rumpling my hair and loving the lightness of it on my scalp, the way my neck feels so cool and bare. "I might even ask you to cut it shorter." I look over at you and giggle. "Would you shave my head for me?" Both of your eyebrows shoot up and you look at me, almost startled. 

"I - yeah... yeah, I - I could do that. If that's what you wanted," you murmur. You look at me for a few moments, head inclining slowly to one side. "It would look good on you."

"Really? You really think so?" I ask, fingers stroking the shortest hair at the back of my head.

You smile and your eyes shine. "Yeah. I think you'd look stunning."

"Stunning," I say, sounding impressed. "Wow."

I'm teasing you and you know I am. You laugh as you look back at the road. "Yeah. Stunning."

"So you'll do it for me when I get back," I say, "and I'll be fucking stunning."

You don't say anything... and the smile on your face gradually fades and is replaced by that same look - that impossible melange of concern and guilt and sadness and frustration. Already, I'm wanting the smile back. 

You park the car in a space and you want to carry everything for me. Even my purse. You look ridiculous just holding it. I take it and my backpack away from you.

"I can manage this much," I say, rolling my eyes.

"I just don't want you to hurt yourself." You're frowning as you pull my suitcase from the back seat and set it on the ground, not looking at me. "You could pull open some of your stitches." You say it under your breath and it sounds almost like you're apologizing to me. I can't take it anymore.

"Shane, put the suitcase down," I say to you, slinging my backpack off of my shoulder and dropping it on the ground at my feet. You look up at me, confused. You've shut the trunk and have the suitcase by the handle, your right knee levered against the back of it so that you can shift its stubborn weight. "Please? Please, put it down, okay. I want to talk to you for a minute." You glance over in the direction of the baggage check and down at my bag, hesitating. "It'll be okay. We've got plenty of time," I say as I move over to you. I wrap my fingers around your wrist and give a gentle tug. "I promise I won't be late. Put it down. Come on."

You finally give in and allow me to help you lower the suitcase back down onto the asphalt. I straighten up and so do you and you back away a couple of steps, stuffing your hands into your pockets. You duck your head and your face disappears behind the brim of that silly brown cap. It makes you look like Sherlock Holmes. 

I follow you those two steps. I reach up and catch the brim of your hat between my thumb and forefingers and pull up and back, taking it off of your head. You lift your head up, quickly looking from one side to the other. The panic is setting in. Your shield is gone and now you have nowhere to hide, except behind your own hair. 

Reaching down, I take your right hand and curl your fingers around your cap, and then take your left hand in mine and do the same. When both of your hands are clutching it, I cover your hands with mine, holding on tightly for a moment. I hear you let out a soft, shuddering sigh, but you remain perfectly still as I reach up and touch your cheek. 

"My dear, kind, wonderful, beautiful best friend," I say softly. My cheeks hurt from smiling so hard and I can feel the tears coursing down my face but I can't stop crying or smiling. I couldn't stop if I wanted to. "Thank you." 

You don't say a word... but you sniffle and give a stilted nod of your bowed head. 

Benevolence incarnate. That's you. 

I cup your other cheek with my free hand and gently tilt your head up, seeing the tears in your eyes, but before I have a chance to say anything, your cap is tumbling to the ground and your arms are around me and you're hugging the life out of my lungs. I hug you back, as hard as I can, fingers clutching at your hair, stroking it, trying to hang on to you and soothe you at the same time. 

You bury your face in my coat and your sobs are quiet, but deep... they're coming from somewhere older than I can know or comprehend and, more than anything else in that moment, I feel honored. Honored that you think I'm worthy of something as precious as your tears. 

"Shhh," I whisper, rubbing my hand over your back, feeling your lean muscles and fragile shoulders give in to the comforting pressure of my touch. "Shhhh. Don't cry. Don't cry, Shane. It's all right."

Your grip on me tightens by increments until it feels like you could break me. So strong, but always so careful. You let go of me and take half a step back, sniffling and wiping at your face with the sleeve of your jacket, embarrassed. I catch your arm by the elbow and gently pull it away from your face. Another weak sniffle and I see another tear slide down your cheek. You avoid my eyes, but I don't mind. I know how much something like this has cost you and I'm so grateful to you for it. 

"I take it back," I say, clasping your hand in both of my own. "It's okay if you want to cry." You squeeze my hand, hard, but don't look up. "Cry your fucking eyes out if you want, okay? You're allowed." You chuckle and it's a thick, choked sound in your throat. "Okay? I'm serious."

"God, I'm gonna miss you." You laugh and hook your free arm around my neck, pulling me in for another hug. "I'm gonna miss you so fucking much, Jen."

"I'll miss you, too," I whisper. I hold your right hand in my own and slip my left arm around your shoulders, holding you back. "But that's why you're gonna write to me and call me. I'll take your calls and answer all of your letters and that way, we won't miss each other as much. Okay?" I lean back and look up at you and you're nodding. "Does that sound good?"

"Yeah." You nod. Fresh tears well in your eyes, but don't fall, this time. "It sounds good."

"I'm gonna write you every day," I say as I reach up and gently wipe the tears from your cheeks, "and you can just call me whenever. I know you and Carmen are gonna try to work things out, though, so you just call me when you find the time. You and Carmen come first." You look up at me and I can see your mouth opening to protest. "No arguing with me about this," I say. "This thing with Carmen is important for you, okay? So you take care of you and her, first. I'll have people to take care of me where I'm going. So don't worry about that." I reach down and carefully smooth the lapels and the silhouette of your jacket. "Okay?"

"Okay." You say after several moments of stubborn silence. There's no way you could argue with me about this, even if you wanted to. I'm making too much sense. Which, considering how unhinged I'm feeling lately, is rather ironic. 

"Now, will you do one last thing for me?" I ask. I look up and you finally meet my eyes. 

"Yeah."

"Would you please smile for me, just once, before I go?" Your brows crease in confusion. "A real smile. A happy one. I don't want to leave here seeing you like this. When I go, I want to see you looking like the way you _should_ be looking. Like you've got a beautiful new girlfriend who loves you very much. You're supposed to be fucking happy, so ... look fucking happy," I say, giving you an encouraging cuff on the shoulder. 

You chuckle and shake your head as you lean back, looking at me. I take both of your hands and hold them in each of mine as we stand there together and I can only imagine what we must look like, but right now, I just don't care.

"You're gonna be okay," you say. For the first time, you sound as though you actually believe it. And _there's_ the smile that I wanted.

"I'm gonna be okay," I echo, nodding, and I can feel a matching smile on my own face. A giggle escapes and I let your hands go so I can wrap my arms around you. "I am."

"Yeah." You hug me back and I can feel your body shaking in my arms as you laugh. 

I pull back just slightly and press a firm kiss to each of your cheeks and you catch my face between your hands and kiss my forehead. 

"Let's get your stuff checked in," you say as you step away and bend down to pick up your cap and my suitcase again. You hastily stuff your cap in the pocket of your jacket and smile at me again, that wonderful smile, as you reach out your free hand. I sling my backpack up onto my shoulder and smile right back at you as I take your hand.

The two of us walk along, hands clasped between us as you lug my cumbersome suitcase through the parking lot for me.


	2. The Value of Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jenny asks Shane to cut her hair.

I'm sitting at the kitchen table, hands clutched in my lap as I consider the scissors and comb I've placed there. I have a question, a favor, I'd like to ask you, but... I'm not sure how you'll react. I see you come padding into the kitchen from the living room and I smile.

"What are you doing still awake?" You ask and I catch the strange undertones of scolding in your voice, even though you're still awake, yourself. You place the bottle of vodka back in the freezer where it will sit until the next get together, getting started on tidying up so that we don't have as much to do tomorrow.

You don't call them parties... you never call them parties. You call them 'get togethers'. The way you say it makes it sound warm and inviting and intimate, which is what they always are, here. You make them feel that way.

"Huh?"

Your voice tugs at me insistently and I look up. I didn't realize I'd started daydreaming. Back to the items quite literally at hand. "Will you cut my hair?" I ask.

"What kind of haircut do you want?" You ask, fingers of your left hand still curled around the freezer door handle, a gleam of ... something I can't quite place in your eyes.

"Short," I say.

Like yours, I want to say, but don't. I've made up my mind. If this is what I am, what I'm supposed to be, then I should look like what I am, right? I mean, that's the theory, isn't it? Mark said that he could tell that you and Alice and the others are what you are because of your hair. He couldn't tell much of anything about me. I was half hoping he would be able to see it, be able to look at me and say 'Ah-ha! That's what you are, see? And this is why', but he didn't. I felt... disappointed... even more lost than before.

But this... this is something I can do something about. Something I can fix. But I need your help.

You hesitate at that, studying me thoughtfully for a moment, and I see your eyes dart briefly to my shoulders, where my hair is draped against my skin. You let go of the freezer door's handle and step away from the fridge and I see you glance behind me, out the window, and I wonder... did you hear us? Did you overhear what Mark had to say about you and your hair and how it singles you out in his eyes?

"Okay," you say carefully. I was hoping you would just take me at my word, just see the request for what I was hoping you would see it for and not try to read anything more into it, but I should have known better. You always see me when the last thing I want to do is be seen... you understand when I want things to remain blurry. I'd hate that about you, but ... no, you're right. This is important.

You take a seat across from me at the kitchen table and sigh. You're dressed for bed and I know it's late.

"Do you want me to do it right now?" You ask, leaning forward in your chair to rest your forearms on your thighs, hands curling together between your knees. They're bigger than mine, your hands... and broader. I glance down at my own hands as they're clasped together in my lap... I think my fingers might be as long as yours, but I can't tell. Couldn't, unless we held our hands together, palms pressing. I think I might ask you, one day, to do that with me.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do," I say quietly, feeling bashful, but at the same time, I want to get the words out before I lose my nerve. I know it's late and you've had a little bit to drink and you're probably feeling sleepy. You have work in the morning. I should have waited and asked you some other time, but the question is out there, now. I can try to offer you some kind of an out, at least... "If you're not too tired."

"I'm not too tired," you say matter-of-factly and... god, you can read me so well.

"Okay." My eyes drift back and forth between your face and my hands as they rest in my lap. Sometimes it's hard to look at you... to look you in the eyes. Did you know that? Your eyes can take me apart, down to my very last molecule, in a heartbeat and do it so effortlessly, so casually... you do it with everyone, not just with me, but it scares me, sometimes, wondering what you must see when you look at me that way.

"Are you sure?" You ask and I can feel you dissecting me.

"Yeah," I say, smiling as I chance a look up and they're there, those eyes. I look down again. "I just feel like I... need to change."

Like I need to change. I do...need to. Here, with you here, I need to. I don't blend in, I don't fit in, I'm not right. I look like a straight girl in a house full of lesbians and ... I'm not. At least, I don't think I am. Not anymore. I... I don't know what I want to be, anymore. That's the truth of it. So maybe I can choose this... make this choice for myself and maybe it will be right, maybe it will feel right the way that Tim didn't... the way Marina wasn't... the way Gene and dear, dear Robin couldn't. Maybe then I'll finally be able to see myself. I can't see myself, my face, with all of this hair in the way.

"Okay," you reply as you stand up from your chair, like it's the easiest thing in the world... now that I've finally admitted it to myself and to you. As if that was all you wanted to hear, what you were waiting for. My reason.

You grab the back of the chair you were sitting in and pull it away from the table, towards the center of the kitchen floor and rest your hands on the back of it and there's something so comforting in your smile and the look in your eyes is... inexpressibly warm. When I don't move to stand up from my own seat right away, you nod down at your chair in silent invitation and I can't help but smile. Such a gentleman.

I stand, move over to the offered seat and sit down, hands settling into my lap again and the joints in my fingers start to ache, my hands are gripping each other so tightly. I feel your hand, then, cupping the back of my head, smoothing my hair as you circle around and the simple gentleness of it makes me close my eyes.

You kneel down in front of me, fingertips catching on the ends of my hair, drawing it down around my face and I can tell you're concentrating. Your eyes have a distant cast to them, now, trying to figure out what you should do, what might look good on me. What would... be good for me. What would be good for me, Shane? Do you know? I can't take my eyes away from your face and I wish you could hear me so I didn't have to ask it out loud, didn't have to say it and sound as lost as I know I feel right now.

You cover my hands with yours and look up at me and the distance is gone and I almost want it back, because the way you look at me... almost makes me want to tell you to forget it, that it was just a stupid idea and that I really didn't mean it, that I didn't know what I meant, but it wasn't this. I never wanted... any of this. I didn't want to fuck my life up this badly... I didn't want to be left alone, all by myself in this house, putting ads in Craigslist for roommates because I couldn't afford to stay here but god, there was no way I could go back to Ohio.

"Okay," I whisper and I can hear the tears in my voice even before I feel them in my eyes. I'm not ready. When will I ever be ready?

"All right?" You ask softly, thumbs smoothing over my skin, soothing... healing.

"Yeah." I nod. I can do this. I need this. I need to be... bare. I need to stop hiding. I need for you to see me, then maybe I can see myself a little more clearly. 

"Okay," you whisper and your smile is full of this impossible, overwhelming joy. I've never seen anything like it in my life.

"Okay," I say with a soft laugh.

"Let's do it."

"Yeah."

You stand and turn, retrieving the scissors from the table, leaving the comb behind, and circle around behind the chair and I can feel your hands, sure and steady, gathering my hair together, smoothing it down. Do you always know what to do, Shane? I almost ask but instead, I look up at the ceiling, fighting tears again.

Do you always know what to do? Always know the right answers? Always know just what to say, just the right smile to give someone to soothe their pain or calm their fears or make them want you? Have you always known how to do that? Could you teach me? Could you teach me to be more like you? As free and certain and sincere as you are? Can you teach me not to be the kind of person who lies and cheats and hurts the people she loves? Can you teach me that? Could you teach me how to be the one they all want... the way everyone always wants you?

I feel the scissors, then, the radiant coolness from the metal against the back of my neck as you hold my hair with one hand and start cutting with the other. I feel each and every strand as it gives way beneath the scissors and I can feel the weight of it lifting surely. You release my hair for a moment and I can feel it falling away... my hair... my life, old memories and bad dreams and mistakes on top of more mistakes, each one even worse than the last.

Your hands grasp the remainder of my hair and the scissors are moving more surely, now... more determinedly than before. I'm really doing this. This is really happening, now, and I feel lighter and lighter and lighter and with one final snap, it's all gone and there's a tear trickling hot down my face. I hadn't even realized I'd started crying again.

Oh god, it's done, now. It's really done.

I close my eyes. I don't want to look. I don't want to see that pile of ghosts sitting there on the floor next to me, beside the chair. Your touch is gentle, as always, as you stroke the back of my head, fingertips tugging lightly at the freshly cut ends of my hair, smoothing back the few shorter pieces that remain. You step back over to the table and pick up the comb and return, coming to stand beside me as I sit, and run the comb through the shorter locks of hair, combing them back out of my face so that you can cut them as well.

"Are you okay?" You ask quietly. My hand immediately goes to my face and I wipe the tears away as I let out a soft, self-conscious laugh.

"Fine," I whisper. "I'm fine." Out of the corner of my eye I can see you nod, just once. "I haven't worn my hair this short in years."

"Yeah," you murmur, raising your voice over the soft snipping sounds of the scissors, perhaps trying to distract me from the sound of it. "It takes some getting used to, for some people."

"What was it like when you cut your hair?" I ask and sniffle as I rub at each of my cheeks with a hand, trying to banish away the last traces of chilled tears from them.

You're quiet for ... a very long time. When you finally answer, you're already done with the right side and have moved on to the left.

"Different," you say softly.

"What made you decide to cut yours?" I ask as I fold my hands together in my lap again and sit up straight. Your fingertips press against the underside of my chin, gently tipping my head up the tiniest increment before you return to your work. More silence. I wonder if I shouldn't have asked you that. Maybe it's something that's none of my business. I don't know.

"I needed to change, too," you reply, hand moving briskly in my peripheral vision as you comb my hair back, followed by more careful, precise snips of the scissors.

"Why did you need to change?" I ask before I can stop myself. "What's wrong with you?" I bite down hard on my bottom lip as I feel the stroke of the comb slow. "I'm sorry. That - I ... I didn't mean it... that way. I'm sorry."

"What's wrong with you?" You ask, voice gravelly but you still speak evenly, calmly. God, nothing ever gets to you, does it? Even when it does.

"I asked you first," I say, letting out a laugh. It's childish, but ... I want to hear. I want to know. I want to know what made you feel like you needed to be something, somebody else... I want to know who or what did that to you... made you doubt yourself that way. I didn't think that was even possible.

You let out a soft 'hmph' of laughter and you don't answer right away... but now, suddenly, I have the feeling that you will. I can feel the answer coming.

"I was ... weak," you say after several minutes of perfect quiet. "I needed to feel strong again."

"So you cut your hair," I say quietly.

"I felt like I didn't have control over... anything," you say and the tone of your voice makes it sound as though you're agreeing with me, even though I didn't see you nod. "But I knew I had control over that."

"The way you look?"

"Yeah."

"Shane?" I say and you lower the scissors and comb and look down at me, eyes questioning. I reach up and take the comb from your left hand and hold it in my lap and curl my fingers around yours, gently drawing you down to kneel beside my chair. I let go of your left hand and reach up, fingertips tugging lightly at the jagged fringe falling over your eyes and your eyes roll up and cross to look at my hand; I press my lips together to hold in the laugh I feel pressing against the backs of my teeth. "What were you trying to do... when you did this?" I ask.

Your eyes uncross and settle back down onto my face again and I can't read you as well as you can read me... I see something in your eyes, but I can't tell what it is, exactly. It makes your eyes look darker, stormier... and there's sadness in there, too... but there's so much more than that... there's history, there, and it's history that's unfamiliar to me... and pain.

I realize, as I watch your eyes grow shadowed and shuttered, that I probably won't get an answer to that question... not now... possibly not ever. I want to hope that someday you might tell me why... that you might trust me enough to tell me.

"You're still beautiful," I whisper, fingers lightly touching the wispy strands that flare out from your face. "If you wanted to know," I add with a small smile. The corners of your mouth twitch upwards briefly before you purse your lips.

"I'm almost done." Your smile is soft but fully fledged as you stand and return to your work.

I fold my hands in my lap again and wonder what Tim would think of my new haircut, if he was here, but he's back in Ohio now... trying to... get on with his life after the shipwreck of me. I hope he's happy and I hope that he finds a girl to give that ring to. Someone who can make him happy, someone who won't... hurt him... take his love and his goodness and his trust and throw it all back in his face the way that I know that I did. I didn't mean to... I never meant to become that person. Wanting is... wanting is not a good thing. No, that's not right. Wanting is fine, but... acting on it. That's where I fucked up.

I'll just... try not to want anything (anyone) for a while - see if I can handle it. I feel you rake your fingers through my hair, smoothing it into place and... I feel the touch of your blunt fingertips on my scalp, sending tingles down my spine and spreading across my shoulders, causing gooseflesh to rise along my arms. You circle around to the other side and fuss there for a few more moments.

I risk a glance up at you and you're staring at me with a critical glint in your eyes, considering your work and if you need to do any more. Not that I have much left, from the feel of it, but I'm sure you could think of something. Your eyes sharpen and dart down to look at my face and you're out of stylist mode. You offer me a smile and it's broad and bright and lovely. You're pleased.

"I'm done." You place the scissors on the table again and my eyes follow you as you saunter out of the kitchen. "Let me go get you a mirror so you can take a look."

"Okay," I call after you.

Immediately, I reach my hand up and... god, it's so short. In the back, it's barely an inch long. It's a little longer in front, but still -- so _short_. My fingertips feel out the ends of my hair, careful not to muss the style you've combed it into.

"Here," you say as you return to the kitchen, holding out a hand mirror to me. "Check it out."

I cast a quick, anxious smile your way as I duck my head and look down into the mirror.

I can see my eyes widen in the mirror as I see my new haircut for the first time. My face seems more round, now - softer than before... but at the same time, more... sculpted.

"I look like Audrey Hepburn," I whisper, a soft giggle tumbling from my lips. I cover my mouth with my free hand, but it's impossible to hide my smile as I look up at you.

You do that little thing that I find so charming where you laugh without making a sound... your face and your body and your eyes all communicate laughter to me, but there are no noises to go along with it. Church mouse. Your lips twist into a warm smile, eyes twinkling with amusement and fondness as you look at me. "You look exquisite," you say quietly as you walk over and retrieve the broom from the corner, hand stroking over my shoulders as you go.

"Thank you," I say, voice hushed as I lower my hand, sharing my smile with you as you pass by me and start sweeping up the leftovers of my old life from where they lay on the floor at my feet. I peer down at myself in the mirror again, fingertips fussing with the short fringe of my bangs in front. "How long do you think it'll take to wash, now?"

"Not as long as it used to," you say with a chuckle as you disappear behind me, the broom's bristles making dry, rasping noises against the hardwood. "Do you like it?"

"Oh, god, Shane... of course! I love it!" I twist about in my seat to gape at you. You're still sweeping, eyes concentrating on your task, but I know that you're listening to me. I reach out with my free hand and catch your wrist and you fall still and look up at me, meeting my eyes. Your eyes are dark and green and so deep, I almost feel like for a second as though I should brace myself on something so that I don't teeter over and fall into them. "I really, really love it," I whisper.

You smile and... I can feel the quiet pride and satisfaction radiating from you, now - your eyes shining as you tuck your chin down against your chest.

"Good," you say softly, and I can tell that... with everything that you are in this moment, you mean that.

I let go of your wrist and can't stop my smile as I turn back to look in the mirror again. So different. Is this me? Is this who I am? Who I've always been, underneath everything? Is this who you saw when you looked at me before - who you could see inside? I want to ask you but it's getting late and now's not the time for questions that deep. Though, I know that if I were to ask you... I know that you would answer me. I'm just not sure, yet, if I want to hear what you'd say.

I was wrong. Meeting Marina and kissing her and sleeping with her and getting fucked over by her... that wasn't my coming out story.

This is.

And I feel so ... grateful, happy, relieved, comforted, thrilled... that you were here to share it with me. That you were here to help make this happen.

I open my mouth to tell you just that, but a yawn overtakes my words and I cover my mouth to muffle it.

"You should go to bed," you say gently, reaching over to grasp my shoulder for just a moment.

"Yeah, I should," I say, scrubbing a hand over my face. "I've got class. Early."

"Then I'll see you in the morning." When I glance back at you, you're smiling at me as you lean on the broom.

"Don't you want my help?" I ask, gesturing to the floor. "I can get the dustpan -"

"No, no," you murmur, shaking your head as you wave off the suggestion. "I got it. It's all right. Go get some sleep."

"All right," I say. I stand and place the hand mirror and comb on the table, next to the scissors and it feels strange, moving around and not feeling my hair brush against the back of my neck or my throat or my face as I lean over. I throw you a sleepy smile as I turn and start out of the kitchen. I reach out and touch your shoulder, just lightly - just for a moment as I go by. "Good night, Shane."

"Night, Jen." You glance up from your sweeping, lips twitching into a quick, sweet smile.

I make it as far as the hallway, my fingers already curling around the doorknob of the door to my room, when I feel the impossible tug. I'm sleepy, but... this is important. It's important that I say it. It's important that I tell you what's going through my head right now - how much what you've done for me tonight means to me.

I turn and walk back towards the kitchen and, as I step into my writing room, I can see you in the kitchen, just through the doorway. You've swept all of the mess into a neat pile just behind the kitchen chair and, as I watch, you stoop down, nestling the broom handle in the hollow of your shoulder, and you reach down, fingers closing around a long, dark lock of my hair and lifting it from the soft black heap. You stand and straighten and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, broom still leaning against you as you fashion the length of hair into a loop, tying the ends of it into a knot. You rub your thumb over the loop of it for a moment, a small smile forming on your face, before you tuck it into the pocket of your sleep pants.

You already know ... what it means to me. Of course you know. Because you see me, when the last thing I want to do is be seen... you understand when I want things to remain blurry... and you know, better than anyone else, that there are some moments that go beyond the mundane necessity of words.

Thank you... for sharing that with me, Shane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gathering together a lot of my fics from various fandoms written under various pseudonyms that have been scattered all over the internet for years. This is one of those fics.


	3. The Last Hoorah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jenny gives her speech to Shane at Shane's bachelor party.

"To Shane! I love you, Shane! I love you! I love you from the bottom of my heart! Congratulations!" The sounds of glasses chiming against each other collide with other voices - our friends, your dear friends - wishing you well, wishing you the best, all the happiness your hands and heart can hold.

And meanwhile, I've had a lump in my throat and a knot deep in the pit of my stomach for the past week that still refuse to go away.

When you told me, I felt like I'd gone flying face first into a wall. It felt like something in me had stopped and no matter how hard I try, I still can't figure out what it was. 

_"Jen... Carmen and I are... we're getting married."_

_My stomach lurched like it does in elevators - this sickening, floating feeling right in my middle that made me feel light-headed and nauseous. It can't be true. Oh, god, please - it just can't. Still, somehow, I manage to swallow and smile my brightest smile for you and if my voice sounds faint when I finally make myself start to speak, then I can't tell, because my heart is pounding so hard in my ears I can't hardly think straight. "Ohh... oh, Shane, that's so wonderful! Congratulations! I'm so happy for the both of you! That's the best fucking news I've heard all year! I bet Alice totally fucking freaked, didn't she?"_

_"No, uhh, I -- she doesn't... they don't know, yet. The guys don't know. You're the first one I ..."_

_"Really?" I ask, the rushing sound of my pulse fading away, my attention focused outwardly, now, in surprise at your words. I'm the first._

_"I... is that okay? I -- I mean --" You shift from foot to foot, looking uneasy. It's not as though you can take it back, now, or un-say it, but I can't help but appreciate the thoughtfulness behind your uncertainty._

_"Ohh, no! No, no... Shane! No, I don't want you to think that I'm not happy for you. I am. I'm so happy. I guess I'm just a little... shocked. I guess."_

_"Yeah," you reply, letting out one of those quiet, husky chuckles that's little more than a huff of breath. "I know what you mean."_

_"Well, I -- when did you ask her? Where? How did it go?" All of the questions come bubbling up out of me in a quick, breathless rush and I'm helpless to stop them. It must sound like I'm excited for you - and I am - but I also have to do something, say something, to fill up the silence so I can't hear the sickening sound of my heart cracking in two in my chest with you standing right here. Not now. Another laugh from you - a bit more purposeful, this time - and your eyes are shining as you steal a glance up at me and I laugh, too. I can't help it. Your smile falters, the light in your eyes guttering out, as if hearing that sound of your own amusement echoed back at you is too startling, too disturbing. You purse your lips and duck your head down again._

_"After, um... after Dana's memorial," you reply, looking noticeably sheepish. "Carmen was... she was in the garden."_

_"So you guys talked?" I ask softly, hopefully. You're always too quiet - it's good for you to talk and it's important to talk about something as big as getting married. Maybe see the land mines and pitfalls before you get too far. Please, Shane, tell me that you talked to her, that you talked with her. Don't do this like I did things with Tim. Careless and hasty and fucked it all up, for both of us. I couldn't bear to watch that happen to you, Shane._

_"No. I mean, yeah, but..." you hedge, hooking your thumbs into your back pockets as you stare down at your sneakers. "I asked her to marry me, but she didn't say anything."_

_"She -- she didn't say anything? Nothing at all?" I ask, blinking in amazement._

_"She didn't say anything, Jenny," you reply, lips thinning slightly, though your eyes are still fixed on the toes of your sneakers. You look so sad. Let down._

_"Maybe she just... needs time? You know? To think about it?" I say, moving in a bit closer, my right hand settling on your back. I can feel you trembling and press my hand to the spot, slowly begin rubbing it back and forth. I'm here. I'm here, Shane. Talk to me. "She didn't say a word, after you asked her?"_

_"Nothing," you whisper, your eyelashes casting soft black shadows just beneath your eyes. "She just -- she kept weeding the flower bed."_

_"It'll be okay," I murmur, running my hand down your spine in slow, steady passes. "It's just -- it's really ... it's just a really hard time for everyone, right now, and she probably just needs to think. We all do."_

_"This isn't about Dana," you reply, a faintly defensive note to your voice as you look up at me, an almost defiant flicker in your eyes. "I love her."_

_It's like miles of ice cold blade being driven through me, hearing you say those words, and I almost flinch away from them, from you, but I manage to stop myself. Just barely. "I know. I know you do," I whisper soothingly, my hand continuing its steady stroking. "Everybody knows you love her, Shane. Okay? Nobody would ever doubt that. Not ever."_

The glass of champagne is cradled in my hand and my cheeks are aching from smiling, but I can feel the sting of salt tears in my eyes as surely as I can feel the faint tingle of the bubbling champagne in its glass against my palm. Taking a deep drink from my glass, I set it down and scoop up my stole, but it's not the cold outside or even the chill of the champagne that's making me tremble. My knees feel weak and I only just barely manage to lower myself into my chair, one hand braced on the back of it to keep me from falling, but even after I sit, I can feel that downward momentum on the inside. Like before, when you told me you'd asked Carmen to marry you, only in reverse, but either way, I feel sick. 

I gather my stole tightly around me and I can see Alice taking her seat again - and I can see the gold-limned glitter of champagne glasses being drawn back to their respective owners - and people are talking. Angus. Kit's new beau. He's sweet. I haven't really had a chance to get to know him very well, yet, but I already know that I like him. He's good for Kit and he looks at her like I can feel myself looking at you, now, as you speak ... answering his question about whether you'll ever have children with Carmen. Oh, god.

It doesn't surprise me that you'd say yes. Looking around the table, though, I can see the rest of them are shocked. It takes most of them several seconds to recover from it, and Bette is the first, saying that she thinks that you'd make a wonderful parent and she's right. My god, she's right. I've seen the way you are with Angelica. You treasure her, guard her fiercely like a knight sworn to protect her always - and you've said as much out loud, before, and the sweetness and sincerity of it was almost enough to make me cry. 

The sound of your voice as you talk about family, about love, lulls me, soothes me, and I find myself staring at you. Your eyes shine as you look at each of your friends, gaze alighting on each of them before flitting to the next, loving each and every one of them, accepting them all for who they are. You've taught us that people's rough edges are beautiful... that's what I'd said during my toast to you and I could almost hear you thinking that you had more rough edges than most, Shane, but you're still so fucking beautiful. 

Sitting with you on the porch that night, so worried about Moira, but I'd wanted to take your arms and wrap them around my waist so badly, I could hardly breathe. Six months... it had been six months and this was the first time we'd been alone together since I'd come back home. I'd cherished that time, coveted it. 

Still, I'd stood up, dusted off the back of my dress and had started into the house, making a quick retreat after that moment where you held my eyes with yours, smiling that tender smile, but even then, I could feel your eyes following me as you told me you'd keep an eye out for Moira and let her know I'd been waiting up for her. I stammered out a thank you and hurried into the house, my cellphone clutched to my chest, feeling my heartbeat hammering against the backs of my fingers as I held it there and it wouldn't surprise me a bit if it was so loud that you could have heard it. 

I almost half-hoped that you could, because I don't know if I can stand it. I don't know if I can stand there at your wedding and smile and really mean it without having my heart whisper conspiracies to me. Making me think things that I shouldn't be thinking - not at a time like this. Fuck, _especially_ not at a time like this.

I'm so grateful to Carmen's family for taking her away for the night. So it can just be us again. The numbers of our party begin to dwindle - heads, eyes and feet made heavier by a long day of skiing, snowboarding, or carriage rides or maybe just a little too much champagne - two by two, the pairs of them drifting off together. First Bette and Tina, then Lara and Alice, then Kit and Angus. Max waits for me as long as he's able but he, too, winds up begging off, making his apologies and congratulating you again before heading upstairs to his room. Leaving just you and I together. 

You've had quite a lot of champagne and you seem fuzzy and happy, but I can tell that there's something you're not saying. Not exactly the elephant in the middle of the room, but definitely something that's bothering you. Still, for the moment, you seem happy enough, the smile still lingering on your lips as you push yourself up out of your seat and actually start trying to clean up the dining room. 

"Shane, come and have a cigarette with me," I wheedle as you pick up a champagne glass, intending to line it up along with the rest you've already assembled from other people's places around the table. I catch the glass by its stem and gently slip it from your fingers. "Leave it. There are people who can clean this up later. C'mon..."

"Jenny, I --" You start to protest, looking up at me in muzzy surprise, hand reaching for the glass that I've taken. I twist to one side, playing keep-away, and giggle. "Jenny, c'mon, I can do it --"

"I know you can, but you don't have to. Helena's paying for it, so let them do their job. _Your_ job is to come out with me right now and have a cigarette," I say, setting the glass down amidst the small collection of stemware you've amassed. I gather my stole around my shoulders, snuggling down into its delicious, slick warmth as I pick up my tiny clutch purse with my cigarettes inside. "Please? Please, Shane?" Holding my purse and my stole together with one hand, I reach out with the other and slip my arm around yours, linking them together as I head for the French doors, giving your arm a gentle tug. 

"Ahh, fuck... all right." I hear glass tinkling and, as I glance back, I see that you're grabbing a half-empty bottle of champagne and two glasses for us and I can't help but smile. That's the idea! 

Everything is so peaceful at night, here. No crickets, no birds, none of the typical noises you'd expect in a city. Perfectly quiet and isolated and lovely. It's the perfect setting for a writer - no noises to distract, no interruptions. Just time and quiet and the cold, cold mountain air. I take a deep breath as we step outside, lips curling into a smile as we step out onto the wooden porch just outside the lodge. 

The stars are twinkling overhead and for a moment, they shock my breath away even more so than the cold does. So beautiful. We approach the railing and you set the glasses on the edge, pouring us each a glass as I light a pair of cigarettes for us - always in tune, working so effortlessly in tandem with one another. You can read my mind without even trying. I trade you a Marlboro menthol for a glass of Moet and it's still perfectly and completely quiet as we meet each other's gazes over the fine rims of our glasses and then lightly clink them against each other in silent toast. 

I take a sip of my champagne and let the complex flavors blossom on my tongue, my smile broadening once I've swallowed. I look up at the stars and take a puff off of my cigarette. Whoever is in charge of time could stop it now and I'd be so happy and so grateful. Let it always be like this - let it always stay like this. Just the two of us.

"You're not saying anything," you point out, and you sound pretty drunk, but amused. 

"No, I'm not," I reply, giggling as I exhale smoke and condensed, foggy breath, waving the thick, white mix of it out of my face with my gloved hand. "Should I be saying something?" I tilt my head as I look over at you and, for a second, I could swear that you're blushing as you laugh and duck your head, staring down at your glass as you hold it between both of your hands. No gloves, no heavy coat for you... just your blazer and your t-shirt. You must be freezing. 

"I don't know," you say softly, sounding strangely coy, which isn't like you. "Maybe?"

"Okay," I say, laughing again as I take another sip of my champagne. "Like... what?"

"Did you have a good time at the party?" You ask and it feels like you're changing the subject, even though I have no idea what subject you had in mind in the first place.

"Yes, I did. Of course I did. It was fucking fantastic," I say, nodding. I gesture emphatically to the beautiful twilit vista spread out in front of us, smiling. "This place is so fucking stunningly, breathtakingly beautiful. I just love it."

You let out a husky laugh, but still don't look at me as you take a sip from your glass - it looks almost as though your eyes are closed, as though if you stayed that way for much longer, you might very well doze right off, standing up. "Did you have a good time at the party, Shane?" I ask, lowering my voice into a sweet whisper, leaning in just a bit.

"I -- I did... I did. It was... really cool. Carmen's present was... great," you murmur, though your body language and tone don't match what you're telling me. It _sounds_ like a good thing, but it still feels like there's something bothering you. There's a small smile on your face, now, but it's not exactly a happy one... 

"It was sweet of her to do something like that for you, since she couldn't be here," I say evenly, letting my eyes slip down to study my own glass as the champagne bubbles and shimmers inside it. 

"Yeah," you say in that same half-broken-hearted tone. When I glance over at you again, I see that you've set your glass on the edge of the railing, the tips of your long, slender fingers resting against the base of the champagne flute, lightly tracing the shape of the base on the wood it sits on. "Am I making the right choice, Jenny?"

"Does it feel right for you, Shane?" I ask, shivering a bit as I place my own flute down beside yours. I bundle my stole more securely around myself and turn a bit to face you, staring at you steadily as you drift and consider. "I think that it's important for you to ask yourself that. Forget about us, forget about the guys, forget about Carmen - forget about all of us and what we might expect or want or think we want and think about you. Think about yourself and what you want and what's right for you. Because nobody else is going to live your life but you."

"Yeah," you say again, your response noticeably subdued, but you've opened your eyes a bit more. What I've said has drawn you out of that drifting place and gotten you to thinking again. Your brows furrow and you frown and I realize, now, that's not where you want to be - you don't want to think. You just want someone to tell you. You're waiting for my answer, as if that will give you some help in figuring it out for yourself, because the answer is still eluding you, even now, on the eve before your wedding day. 

"It's something really monumental, what you're planning to do," I say softly. "And I _know_ that you're not like me. You're not the kind of person who'd get married on a fucking whim and then wake up with it like a bad hangover. I know that if you're going through with this, it's because you know you can make this work - or you're at least willing to try... and that says a lot about you. It takes a lot of work, but I think -- I know that you can do this, Shane. I believe in you."

A quiet chuckle and you shake your head. I bite my lip and turn back to the railing. "What do you want, Shane?" I ask softly, running the tip of my gloved index finger along the side of my champagne flute, watching the way the sparkle of bubbles in the glass is reflected on the smooth, shimmery fabric of my glove. That is, after all, the most important question of the evening - of your _life_. What do you want? 

You don't answer for a very long time. It's too cold outside for crickets and so all I can hear is the faint sounds of the wind sneaking through the needles of the trees around us as we stand there together and smoke and drink Helena's wonderful, fucking insanely indulgent, expensive champagne. "I don't know," you reply, just as softly, and it almost sounds as though you're apologizing, but who you might be apologizing to is a mystery to me.

"Do you want to be with Carmen for the rest of your life? The rest of hers?" I ask and turn my head to look at you. You shift from foot to foot uncomfortably, like a 13-year-old boy who's been caught doing something he shouldn't be doing. 

"I-I -- I ..." you stammer quietly, brows furrowing under the weight of your hesitation. You take half a step to the right and then reverse gears, taking half a step to the left, your head bowed. Oh, fuck. What have I done?"

"It's okay," I begin soothingly, "if you don't know..." 

"But -- but I should know," you murmur, sounding almost frustrated with yourself. "I _should_ know." You lift your head up and glance over at me, that troubled look still on your face, shadowing your eyes. "Right?"

"Shane, how old are you?" I ask, tilting my head as I gaze at you questioningly.

"Twenty-six," you say and frown in confusion, obviously not quite sure where that question came from.

I feel my lips drawing back into a bright smile in spite of myself. "You're so young," I whisper sweetly, hearing the wondering sound in my voice. "You don't have to know. You don't have to know the answer to a question like that. You're not there, yet."

"So... so why did you ask me?" Your frown is just as befuddled as it was a moment before and maybe there's just a hint of exasperation there, too.

"I don't know," I say with a slight shrug and a smile. "I'm just trying to help...? Maybe help you get to the answers you're looking for..."

A couple of beats of silence and there's that indulgent, knowing smile I love. "You're not that much older than me," you point out with a grin.

"I know," I reply, my smile broadening as I bounce a bit on the balls of my feet, the high heels on my shoes clacking against the wood of the decking. Chuckling, you bring your glass up to your lips and take a long, thoughtful drink. "I have been married before, though. So, technically, I do have a _bit_ more experience than you in that area, in this case."

"How long were you and Tim married?" You ask, dark brows knitting together as you look at me. Somehow, I find my eyes sliding down along the smooth plane created by the shoulder of your jacket, following it down along the sleeve to your hand as it cradles your champagne glass. Tomorrow, that hand will have something that it doesn't have tonight... something silvery and slender and graceful to go along perfectly with your beautiful hands. 

"Four months," I say, biting my lip as I drag my eyes away from those long, lithe fingers and meet your eyes instead. I force a smile. "Legally. But actually, we were man and wife for... about five hours?"

You wince just slightly, sucking in a breath through your teeth and I can see the 'sorry' in your eyes, even before you say it. "I... I'm sorry I ..."

"Sorry for what, Shane? It's okay. You didn't know. We barely knew each other, then," I reply with a shrug, taking a sip of my drink. I giggle a little. "I knew your name, but you were still the tough, black-haired girl who fucked the blond in Bette and Tina's pool, in my head..."

Oh, god. I've had too much to drink. Way, way, way too much to drink. I immediately clap my hand over my mouth as those words burble out, feeling my eyes go wide and I don't know whether I'm going to throw up or faint from sheer mortification. I feel my cheeks growing hot and my pulse is already growing thready but at the same time, I can feel my heart giving away in flutters in my chest. I don't look at you... just keep staring straight ahead of me - at a strange little dark furrow in the snow just beyond the deck. A rabbit hole? I wonder if I could fit in there? I need somewhere to hide...

Complete and total silence and I can feel the chill of the night air leaping into my bones - passing straight through the fur and my clothes and making itself a part of my blood. 

"I knew you... were watching, that day," you say, so softly that it's almost drowned out by my heart pounding in my ears. "I saw you."

"You did," I breathe and it's not a question. I know that you'd seen me... we both knew, but we've never, never spoken of it. All this time, we've gotten closer, gotten to know each other, become roommates, become friends - best friends - and we never said a word. Oh, fuck. I feel myself swallowing quickly, reflexively, and I clamp my hand over my mouth again. If I don't calm down soon, I probably _will_ throw up. The satin of my glove feels so awfully cold. We should have had the waiter bring us some hot chocolate, I think to myself, my mind reeling wildly in a million different directions as I try to figure out what to say, what I can do to ... stop this...

"You were watching me," you add and when I finally look over at you, you're looking down - maybe at that same hole I'd spotted - and you lick your lips quickly, anxiously. As though you want to disappear and pretend this conversation wasn't happening, just like I do. Or maybe gather up all of these words that we shouldn't be saying, these corpses we shouldn't be exhuming, and stuff them into the rabbit hole, down in the deep-dark where they go. "And that night, too... at Tina and Bette's. The party."

"You were with that girl," I whisper, tearing my eyes from you because it hurts. It just hurts to look at you, right now. So fucking beautiful. "The girl with the pink hair." I don't know why, but I can't stop talking - the words just keep coming out with my breath and I can't stop them. It feels like I'm holding onto this rope and it's being pulled out into this abyss and I'm trying to stop it, but it just keeps sliding through my hands, no matter how hard I try to hold on. "You were kissing. I saw you."

"I know," you say, the faintest hint of wry amusement in your voice. "I remember. You said 'wow'." Something inside me wrenches and I'm going to faint; I just know it. Then there's nothing but more of that silence... heavy silence, now. "I... I liked the way it felt... when you were watching me."

My eyes pop open of their own volition and, for some reason, I look down at the cigarette nestled between my fingers... it's ashed down to nothing - just a butt left. I throw it over the edge of the balcony and set my glass on the railing, gathering my furs more tightly around my shoulders. "Shane... we shouldn't do this, now," I say and it comes out sounding more like a plea than a statement.

"Why not?" You ask and you sound... hurt? I can't tell.

"Because, we..." I feel my throat close around the words - whatever it was I was going to say, whatever excuse I was going to make, and my mouth and throat feel so dry, all of the sudden. "Because."

No matter how drunk we might have been when we came out here, one thing's for sure: we're both very, very sober, now.

"Oh, fuck..." I sigh, bowing my head, suddenly feeling very dizzy, like my brain is loose and sloshing around inside my skull. I bring both of my hands up, burying my face in my palms and the spinning gets even worse.

"Jenny! Fuck -- Jenny!" You yell and I startle at the sudden spike in volume - you always sound so funny when you raise your voice; you're not supposed to do that. "Jenny, are you okay?" I feel your hand lightly touch my cheek and it's so dry and cold and your fingers are so slender and they feel like they should be brittle - like they would snap like twigs under the weight of too much snow. 

"What?" I ask, blinking up at you bewilderedly. How did I wind up like this? Oh, god, did I faint?

"I think you did, sort of," you murmur and I guess I must have said that last part out loud. "It's okay. I've got you."

I realize, then, that you do have me - somehow, I'd started to faint and you... you caught me. It feels too right, being like this. Too right and all completely and very wrong at the same time, because this is the night before your wedding. 

"Are you okay?" You ask, curling your fingers and resting the backs of them against my cheek and then my forehead, as though you're checking for a fever, your eyes dark with concern.

"No, no -- I'm okay. I'm fi... I'm fine," I manage, offering you a watery smile as you help me straighten up. I reach for the wooden railing and hang onto it for dear life and I almost expect to hear the wood creaking under my hands. Your left hand remains on my shoulder, the other hand on my wrist... keeping me steady, just like always. God, what will I do without you? What will I do when you're gone? 

"Are you cold? You're shivering. Maybe we should go insi--"

"No, really! Really, I'm okay. I promise," I sputter quickly, shaking my head as I glance back at you, smiling weakly. I feel another vague wave of dizziness flutter over me and I can feel you slip up behind me and wrap your arms around my shoulders, adjusting my stole and holding it around me securely. I stand rigidly, stock still, but finally I just can't resist the lure of your unconditional affection... I feel myself settling back against you, held fast in your arms, and my eyes slide shut - blocking out the snow and the rabbit hole and the stars and the trees and the whole world and time that keeps ticking away no matter how much I don't want it to. Time that I wish I could hold... cup in my hands, curl my fingers around and cherish. I _want_ that. 

Your arms loosen around me slightly, but you don't let go... and I can feel you resting your cheek against my hair. Even in heels, I'm still not as tall as you are, but I like the way we fit together so perfectly, all the same. 

"I don't wanna lose this," you whisper and I can feel the heat of your breath on my ear and my face warms, almost as though in response to that warmth and I feel myself shivering again. Shaking in your arms. It's hard to tell, through all the layers between us, but I could almost swear that you're shaking, too. You must be so cold; you're not even wearing gloves. "Will I? After tonight?"

"Never," I say, my voice sounding choked to my ears and now there's the sharp, sudden sting of hot tears in my eyes. I reach up and grasp your arms, drawing them more snugly around me. "Never."

All this time, I've had this secret... kept it, cradled it, did my best to push it to the farthest, dustiest corner of my brain. So that I could forget what it feels like... when you hold me like this. It wasn't always this way; you fascinated me. From the very first moment I saw you, I knew - I'd never seen anything or anyone like you in my life... you were so different and strange - not what I knew - and it made me feel uneasy. People are always uneasy when it comes to things they don't know or can't understand. But I couldn't just take you apart by looking at you - couldn't figure you out with just one glance, the way you do with me and everyone else around you. I couldn't look at you and just know.

It took time. It took me a lot of time. It took wrecking my relationships with Tim, Marina, Robin and Gene and winding up alone in Tim's gigantic house and needing a roommate. It took you opening a beer for me and saying that we should talk about you moving in... being my roommate. We did talk and after you moved in, I was one step closer to capturing that meaning... unlocking the answers. I think I was a little scared of you, at first... because you were so in touch with yourself. You were alive in a way that I'd never seen before. You ... _knew_ yourself. Knew what you were good at, knew how to make women feel good about themselves - whether it was by cutting their hair or taking them to bed or cutting their hair and _then_ taking them to bed or just the way you could look at someone and just _smile_ and make everything right, somehow. I still can't figure out how you're able to do that... I still want to know.

I think I could look at you for the rest of my life and never stop wanting to know what you're thinking. But right now, I can't see you - can't see anything, for the tears brimming in my eyes. I blink and they go sliding down my face. I sniffle softly and duck my head, wiping at my eyes and I feel your arms tighten around me, pulling me back against you... steady, reassuring.

I _don't_ want to lose you. I don't want to lose this. I don't want to see you walking back down the aisle with Carmen's hand tucked into the crook of your arm, married and together. I'm afraid of taking the risk... taking it that one, small step farther and losing you as a friend, because I couldn't keep my emotions in check.

"Nothing changes," you whisper and I can hear the desperation in your voice, feel the way your arms enfold me. I don't know if it's a plea or a simple statement of fact. I can't tell; my head's still spinning.

"It will," I whisper back, my words tear-stained and apologetic. "It will change. You'll -- move out... find your own place... so you can be with Carmen."

"No! No..." I feel you shake your head, the movement registering as a rustle of my hair. 

"It's okay," I say, the words coming out as a sob. Squeezing my eyes tightly shut in denial, I feel my chin resting against my chest. "It's okay, it's -- it's what you should do... it's what everybody does..."

"Fuck," you mutter, letting out a ragged sigh and you nestle your face into my hair, into the fur wrapped around my shoulders, giving me a careful squeeze.

"Is that what you want?" I ask, eyes blinking open and more tears spilling down my cheeks, molten hot. I let out a soft, choked sound and look up at the sky, hanging onto you just as tightly as you cling to me. "Is it?"

I hear you take a deep, slow breath and feel your lips settle against the nape of my neck. They're impossibly hot in contrast to the thin, chill-laced air, and soft... and I remember another day you did that same thing. White everywhere, only it wasn't snow... porcelain tiles and you had smudges of blood - my blood - on your hands, because you'd been the one to find me, the one to take the razor blade from me. 

I glance down and can see your long fingers clutching at the fur wrapped around me... your skin is gray-white from the cold, very nearly turning blue, and I find myself reaching up, covering both of your hands with my own, and rubbing them, squeezing them. I feel a puff of your hot breath against my throat and an involuntary breath is pushed out of my own lungs, creating a white cloud of condensed breath that billows and drifts before me. 

_I'd been so ashamed... sitting there on the ice cold floor in nothing but a pair of skimpy underwear, hair still damp from my bath, thighs sticky and slashed open and oozing blood. You only hesitated for half a second when you came in - just long enough to see what was going on - and then you sprang into action. Somehow, you always, always know what's the right thing to do. When you'd managed to coax the razor blade out of my fingers, you set it aside on the sink - the metal making a muted, metallic plink noise as it touched the porcelain - and you pulled a towel from where it was hanging on the towel rack nearby._

_"Honey... Jenny..." you whispered to me and you were pleading with me. I could hear it in your voice. 'Be all right, now. Please, be all right... let me help fix it... let me make it better, if I can... please, let me help you...'_

_I was mesmerized by the cuts I'd opened up on both of my thighs - the left one was worse than the right; I'd only just started on the right one when you came in - the brightness of the blood against my skin, offset further still by the whiteness of the tiles I was sitting on. I could hear your breath, thready and frightened and fast, and when I looked up, your face was no more than five inches from mine. You looked worried, scared... scared for me. You always do the right thing and, somehow, I always manage to fuck up everything I touch. Tim, Marina, Robin, Gene, Carmen..._

_I'd tried so hard. So hard._

_This was something, at least. This was something I could do well. Hurt myself, let the pain spill out onto my skin, where it could dry and flake away, so that there would be no more of it to poison the rest of the blood my veins. You'd gotten blood on your hands as you'd taken the razor from me and all I could think was, 'I've infected you, too...' with this sickness, the weakness, the disease of wrongness I've been fighting for so many years._

_I felt a sob well up in my throat and tears burned in my eyes. "Fuck," I gasped as I met your eyes. So wrong. Everything was so wrong and I couldn't take it back, couldn't fix any of it. I felt your arm, warm and strong, slide around my shoulders as you gathered me close to you and I buried my face in your shoulder, clinging to you as I cried. Hiccuping and coughing and choking on my own tears, but you were still as steady and calm as always._

_"All right," you whispered, cradling me in your arms, stroking my hair as you gently rocked me. "We'll get you help. Okay? We'll get you help..."_

_"Okay," I sobbed, huddling closer to you. I could feel your arms secure around me and I knew you wouldn't let me go - you wouldn't let me float away, you wouldn't let the monsters have me._

_I felt you nestle your face in the crook of my shoulder, your skin feeling so much cooler than mine at that moment. I've always hated crying... it makes my face feel sore and hot and bruised. I didn't want to move, but my nose was stuffy and it was getting hard to breathe, but I could remember, so clearly, the way your t-shirt smelled. The usual detergent and fabric softener you favored, plus cigarette smoke, pot smoke, hints of sweat and the styling gel you like._

_"Fuck," I muttered again as I sat back, resting my chin on my fist. "I need help... don't I? I'm really fucked up..."_

_"We'll get you help," you said again, your voice husky but reassuring, eyes tired but filled with concern and sympathy. "All right?" I stared into your eyes and I could see that you meant it, but I could see just how badly I'd scared you, there, at the same time and I felt so horribly ashamed. Because I've never seen you scared - never seen anything scare you that badly - and it was me who'd put that fear into your eyes. So ashamed._

_"Kay," I whispered, feeling the tears brimming up in my eyes again as I lowered my hand, reached for the towel where you were pressing it to my cuts and drew it away. So many marks, so many cuts, and they still didn't make the pain go away, didn't make it any less. I think I probably could have flayed myself alive in that bathroom and it still wouldn't have done any fucking good._

_"No, no..." you said, gently taking the towel from me and folding it over, placing the clean side down on the cuts. "You gotta leave it... to stop the bleeding..."_

_Bleeding. I was bleeding. And I'd done it. I'd done it to myself. I'd done it all to myself - fucked things up with Tim for Marina who didn't give two shits about me, was so confused that Gene finally gave up, pushed Robin away for her own good, to protect her. Protect her from this. But not you... you didn't want to be protected from this. And I still couldn't understand why - or how - how you could see me like this and just push ahead, push forward and do the right thing, in spite of the fact that I'd scared the shit out of you. Letting out a groan, I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and I could feel your hand settling on the top of my head, just resting there, letting me feel you, letting me know you were still there, making sure that I knew you were still there and that you were still by my side._

_"Ohh, fuck," I sighed, sniffling and wiping at my face. Why couldn't I get it right? "_ Ohh, fuck. _" The cuts on my legs were shrieking and aching, but I ignored them, feeling your hand petting my hair and concentrating on that sensation, instead. Comfort. You didn't say a word, you just... touched me._

_Even then, at my worst and weakest and darkest, you still saw me. You didn't see the cuts or the blood or the damage inside my head that had caused them in the first place. You really saw me. Not like Carmen, who looked at me and only saw herself getting closer to you. Not like Tim, who'd stared through me and, after a while, stopped hiding the blank, uncomprehending looks when I'd explain my stories. Not like Marina, who'd looked at me and saw a trophy, a tool to make her real girlfriend jealous. Not Robin, who looked at me and saw the opportunity to do things over and hope I'd get it right this time, the way her wife hadn't. Not like Gene, who'd looked at me and been disappointed and frustrated by the things I hadn't even been able to see in myself, yet, and wondering how the hell I hadn't seen it, yet._

_I let out a weary groan and I could hear that small, half-amused hum of yours as your arms went around me again, holding me close as I tried to catch my breath._

_With them, I always fucked things up... but with you, nothing I could ever do would be wrong -- I could feel that -- and yet, even then, I couldn't find the words. I'm a writer - I'm supposed to know the words, know just what to say - and, just like always, you'd left me speechless... words were useless, around you. You barely ever spoke and we always canceled each other out so perfectly, but what about now? What about now, when it was so important...?_

_How could I ever... how could I ever tell you? How could I ever just be me and feel like me and not just those cuts? All that damage? I felt another frustrated sob gathering at the back of my throat and I slowly shook my head. Fuck. How could I be who you saw? How could I be the one... how could I be the woman you understood, if I couldn't understand myself? More than anything else, I felt ashamed, because how could I do that...? How could I do that to myself, where you'd find me? You already had so much to deal with, so many other things..._

_I tried to ignore the tiny voice in my head that was sighing with relief... because it had known that you would fix things, that you would help, if only you knew. Looking at you that night outside the strip club, I could see how worried you were for me... wondering and unable to understand why... I hardly understood, myself, but still, you'd reached out to me._

__You have **me** , you have other people - you don't have to do this alone... _I think that was probably the first time you've ever said something like that to anyone and I could feel it, could tell that they were words you weren't used to saying._ Just... just be careful... __

_I'd let you down... I'd stopped being careful. I gave up on that, knowing that was no way to find myself... knowing that the only way I could was to open myself up and see the illness dripping out of me, drop by drop... and I'd scared you. Shane, I'm so sorry..._

_"You wanna hear some good news...?" You whispered, trying to force some levity into your husky voice._

_Good news?_ Now? _There was good news? I couldn't wait to hear this... "What?" I asked, letting out a choked, tear-strained laugh as I sat up. "What?" You stared at me for a couple of moments and your smile wasn't exactly bright, but at the same time, oddly proud and suddenly, I really did want to hear..._

_"Tina had her baby," you said softly._

_"She did?" I asked, feeling another sob creep up into the back of my throat. Oh, god. Tina's baby. "No..."_

_"Mm-hmm," you hummed patiently, smiling._

_"No...! Are you serious?" I asked, sore eyes widening, my lips drawing back into a smile, seemingly of their own accord._

_"Mm-hmmm..." again and your eyes were shining, then. "She had a little baby girl..."_

_"Oh, my god," I whispered, tears rolling down my cheeks. But, no, it was early... wasn't the baby early? I remembered Bette saying something... "Is she okay?"_

_"Mm-hmm," you said and nodded. "You bet."_

_"It's beautiful," I croaked through my tears, smiling. Another sob caught on my next words. "It's great..." Glancing down at my legs, all I could do was laugh - it was all so ridiculous. Me, sitting on the floor in my underwear, bleeding like a stuck pig, with the two of us tearful, drippy messes. "Oh, my god, I'm in shorts..." I laughed, doubling over and feeling the last of the pressure in my chest give way like a sandcastle at the beach, crumbling and falling away, leaving nothing but me behind. "Come here!" I sobbed, smiling even as I sat up, threw my arms around you and hugged you. "Oh, my god... Shane, it's so beautiful..."_

_"Yeah, it is... it's beautiful," you whispered, hands smoothing over my bare back, unmindful of my nudity. It felt better, that way, skin against skin - you know someone really means it, when they touch you that way. I could feel you start to pull away. "Come on... let me help you up. We'll get cleaned up and we'll go see the new baby..."_

_"Tina's new baby...!" I echoed delightedly, smiling as I slouched back against the side of the tub, the metal ice-cold against my bare skin. You stood up and held out both of your hands to me. I slipped both of my hands into yours and you carefully drew me to my feet. "Tina's new baby girl! Oh, god, I can't believe it. Shane, she had a little girl..."_

_"It's good news, right?" You asked, grinning as you helped to steady me, the towel draped over my thigh crumpling to the floor as I straightened._

_"It is. It's very good," I agreed with a giggle as I nodded. "It's very good news... thank you..."_

_"Okay," you whispered, reaching up to rub my arm, your eyes so sad and so tired but your smile ... your smile was one of the purest, truest, most perfect things I've ever seen. "Let's get you cleaned up..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gathering together a lot of my fics from various fandoms written under various pseudonyms that have been scattered all over the internet for years. This is one of those fics.


	4. Woebegone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane and Jenny write to each other while Jenny's receiving treatment.

Dear Shane,

I'm starting this letter as I'm sitting on the plane headed for Illinois. I miss you and our home and our friends already, I guess. I know I'm going somewhere where I can get the help and the rest that I know – that we both know – I need. I guess I just never thought I would start thinking of Los Angeles as 'home'. 

I never thought I'd leave Ohio, until I met Tim. I never really thought I'd go anywhere or do anything all that special or unusual in my life. Tim and I would get married, buy a house there in Ohio, and we'd have lots and lots of kids and we'd be happy... and that's the way it would be. 

I never planned on him getting a job coaching, or that it would take him away to California and away from me. I never planned on moving out there to be with him, meeting Marina, getting engaged. You know those planned parenthood commercials on tv? The ones that say 'the best things in life are never planned'? I don't think they meant for that to also apply to a good little Jewish girl fucking a woman behind her loving fiance's back. 

I never planned on any of that... but there were other things that I didn't plan on that actually surprised me, in a good way. Like getting to know you. I think you moving in was probably the best thing that's happened to me in a long time, Shane. I never told you that, but then I don't think I really had to, did I? You knew it all along. You came along at a time in my life when I needed someone to help me figure out who the hell I was and you did that... even though you might not realize that you did. You accepted me and supported me and were there for me when it felt like I was completely and totally alone. You moved into my empty house and made it alive again, with your little impromptu get-togethers and you ... just being you, I guess. I never told you this either, Shane, but you are such a vibrant, passionate person. Seeing you, and the way you love your life, and are so thankful for it, is one of the reasons why I knew all of this would work out. One of the things that helped me to believe that I could get better. Helped me to want to be better, so that I could start trying to enjoy my own life just as much. I want that so much, Shane. I don't want perfect happiness or a perfect life... I'd be satisfied just to be content with myself, to look in the mirror and finally recognize myself again. To look in the mirror and not see the bruises or the dirt or the pain in my reflection's eyes and have no idea of what I could do in order to make that pain go away. Seeing you smile before I left, hearing you say the words 'you're gonna be okay,' I knew then that everything would be all right. 

Because when I look at you... when I used to look at you... it was like looking into a mirror. Seeing you there at the airport, so happy... so content, on the way to getting better, yourself, made me believe I could have that, too. I know you're worried about me. Please, don't be. I am going to get better. And don't feel guilty for feeling happy about you and Carmen. I could see that, too, even though you were trying to hide it. You're a woman in love, Shane, and it shows and I'm so happy for you I can hardly stand it. I know you were worried for me, after Carmen and I broke up, but I just didn't realize then how much the two of you really meant to each other. When I watched Mark's tape, it was like a slap in the face, hearing Carmen say all of those things that I'd been hoping she would say to me... only she was saying them to you, instead. I think that was why I tried so hard to make it work with her, because I knew that she wanted to forget you and I wanted to prove to myself that I could have something just as meaningful as what you have with Carmen. Seeing the two of you together was always so hard for me, because it was like the rest of the world just didn't exist for you. There was this little bubble and the two of you were trapped inside of it and every second was precious and every touch was priceless. Most of the time, though, you didn't even realize when the bubble was blown around you. And that's not your fault. It's like I said to Carmen: you can't help who you fall in love with. You fell in love with her and she fell in love with you and I never had a chance. You two were meant for each other in a way that I'd always hoped I'd find someone who was meant for me. I told Burr I thought that I was probably just one of those people who wasn't meant to be happy, but he told me I was wrong. That I do deserve to be happy. 

Maybe he was right, but I can't be unwell and happy at the same time, since the two states contradict each other. So, get better first, then. Happiness when... happiness when I'm well and I can come home again. And I can see you and hug you and ask you how things have been going with Carmen and see our friends again and see little Angelica and hold her in my arms. And you can cut my hair so I'm happy and home and stunning.

Tell me how you are, Shane. How are Carmen and Mark? How are Bette and Tina and Angelica, are they all doing okay? Alice and Dana, tell me how they are? I want to hear everything. Tell me about your jobs doing hair and about all the celebrities you're meeting, tell me about the house, tell me about paying rent and about Mark's latest project. Tell me anything you can think of, tell me everything. Tell me about how things are at home, Shane. I miss home. I miss you. I'm flying at thirty-five thousand feet somewhere over... Kansas, I think... but I miss home so much, already. 

I'll send this as soon as I get to the treatment center and they tell me how I can send mail. 

Love,  
Jen

PS: I've arrived at the center. They've told me that the mail carrier drops off mail at 3pm and picks up any letters that need to go out then. The woman at the counter – her name is Joanne – told me to tell you to make sure to include my name and room number (#348) in the address so they can get your letters to me. So I'll just be sealing this up and sending it now. Hope to hear from you soon.

 

Dear Jenny --

I wasn't expecting a letter from you so soon, but I was glad to get it. How's the center? Is your room okay? If you want me to send you anything from your room here to make it feel more like home, or if there's anything else you need, just let me know. 

Everybody's fine. Angelica and her two proud mommies are doing just great. It seems like every time I go over to visit them, Angelica gets a little bigger each time. She's really beautiful. I still can't believe how tiny she is. She's tiny, but she's a person, you know? This tiny little person and it just blows my mind. I'll ask Bette and Tina if they can make copies of some of their pictures so I can send you some. Angelica's only been home for a few days, but they've taken millions of pictures of her already. 

Mark got a new gig working with a band. He's going to be out of town for most of the summer, working on a video diary for the band while they're on a tour of the coast. You don't have to worry, though - he said he'll make sure to send a check each month to cover his part of the rent while he's gone.

Alice and Dana aren't doing so hot right now. Things are pretty heavy on Alice's end, but Dana's starting to look like she's feeling cramped or something. They're both great people. I just hope things work out okay for them.

Carmen and I are... we're doing good, Jenny. We're happy. 

I'm happy. 

Writing that down, seeing those words on paper feels so weird. But it's true. Every day, every second I spend with her, she just keeps surprising me. 

I got to work on Salma Hayek's hair today for a premiere. She was nice. I've got a day call the middle of this week and another one out at Paramount this weekend. 

Let me know if you need anything. You have my cell number and the number at the house, so you know how to reach me if you do need anything. 

Guess that's it for now.

\- Shane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gathering together a lot of my fics from various fandoms written under various pseudonyms that have been scattered all over the internet for years. This is one of those fics.


	5. All That I Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jenny thinks about the holidays.

I want to share Valentine's Day with you – taking huge bags of those awful little heart candies with phrases like 'Kiss Me' and 'Be My Valentine' stamped on them and making a project of gluing them to a large piece of poster board in interesting patterns and designs because who would ever actually want to _eat_ those? -- a pastel rainbow of loving phrases made bland by being stamped on equally bland candy, and sitting with you on the floor, shoulder to shoulder as we work, I can feel each and every one of those sentiments as truly as people must have, back when the words meant something real. Still, we can hang it up in the kitchen on the corkboard and the day, those words, can and will still mean something to us.

I want to have another Pride with you... venturing out into the living sea of us again, hand in hand (which we do every day, anyway, whether it's Pride or not) and maybe this time, you'll be able to talk me into riding with you and the motorcycle lesbians. Even if you don't, I hope you still try. I want you to try every year. I'd like to go with you to the Planet after the parade ends, do shots and toast to our beautiful friendship with you, knowing all the while that there's so much more in me for you than just those simple, friendly feelings. Ending the night just feeling grateful that I have you to hold me and keep me steady as we make our way up the front porch steps, smelling the cigarette smoke on your clothes and the cool liquor smell on your breath and feeling your broad palm at the small of my back, guiding me with that single point of gentle, steady contact.

I want to have a fourth of July, too. Drinking your delicious margaritas and licking salt from my lips in the sweltering sunshine as we grill hamburgers and hot dogs by the pool and dance around to loud music and not caring about how silly I might look. With you holding my hand up over my head as I turn and turn and turn until I'm happily, blissfully dizzy from the heat and the tequila and your smile. 

I want to have Christmas with you and watch, quietly anxious, as you oh so carefully and patiently pick the tape loose from your presents from me to you, trying to see your reaction to them before you let me. Eight days of darling little presents for you from me and I have the perfect excuse; you don't talk much about what religion you practice, but it doesn't matter – these days, nobody gives a fuck, as long as there are presents sometime during the winter, but before New Years. I'll light each candle on the menorah, one for every night, whispering the traditional blessing each time and feel you watching me all the while, the whole thing probably seeming like some kind of crazy voodoo ritual to you. Even so, you'll remain reverently quiet, afraid to do or say anything that might shatter the magic, fragile like bubbles made of glass. 

And I'll go with you for Mass, with you dressed up and looking so respectable and good; the way you'll probably pull out a pretty, old rosary from your pocket as we sit together in a pew at the back, your fingers sorting to the right spot on the chain from memory and even though your lips won't move, I'll still almost be able to hear the words. Words I don't even know, since I'm not Catholic. Still, they're ingrained in you and it's a sense memory that resonates. And I don't think I'll have ever seen you look more beautiful as you cross yourself, head bowed, curled fingers settling at your lips, eyes closed. Finally showing me what something truly sacred looks like.

I want to have a New Years with you, shaking up bottles of champagne and letting the corks fly so that we can hose down everyone, shrieking and giggling as we chase down Alice and Bette and Tina. Getting so caught up and drunk that even if our lips cling together for a second too long after the countdown has ended, it's still okay. 

I want to have just one quiet morning, where we sit out on the porch for no reason at all (besides that the weather is nice and we can), passing a cigarette back and forth between sips of coffee. Yours has a little milk and a spoonful of sugar – you always take it that way, unless it's your wake-up shot – and mine has a bit of Silk and just a tiny, _tiny_ bit of sugar. With you sitting on the top step and reading the morning paper and looking so studious and serious in your glasses and with me just staring out at the backyard and thinking about how one of us needs to pull the weeds along the fence. Sipping my coffee and stealing glances at you as you move from the lifestyle section to the wanted ads, your face gathered up into that purposeful frown. I want to have just that one quiet morning, where everything is accomplished by a glance or a nod or a smile, communicating in gestures and tilts of the head, the way you do.

There are other things I want. Things I don't tell you about – can't – and don't even really allow myself to think about or dwell on for very long. I want to be standing in a room with our friends, chatting with them as we sip from glasses of wine. And when you come into the room, I want to see your eyes go dark with wanting me, even though you play everything perfectly cool, just like always. I want you to come to me, right to me, and wrap your arms around me so that I can lean into you just a little and feel you supporting me. 

I want to get caught out in the rain with you, on a drizzly, miserable, beautiful day and run home dripping and laughing as we shake the wetness out of our clothes and hair. I want you to lay me back into your bed and I want to feel if the mattress is as soft and inviting as it looks, even if the bed looks like an obstacle course gone horribly wrong. I want to wake up in the morning and see if the view of the ceiling from your bed is different. Your room used to be the room I shared with Tim and I'd wake up every morning and feel like I was being strangled in slow motion and suffocating until I finally managed to scramble out of the bed. I want to know if it will feel any different, with your arms snug around my waist and your face nestled in the curve of my throat, your slow, deep, sleeping breaths feathering against my skin and curling behind my ear.

I want there to be a moment that's not really a moment at all, because it's a lot of little moments all pieced together out of these and others. The moment, the point where we realize that no matter how many other women we see, no matter how many times we fall in love and injure ourselves on its jagged and unforgiving edges, there's always you for me to come back to and me for you to come back to. The point where we just maybe stop going out to Here! or Milk quite so much and spend more time at home, just talking, or not talking at all. 

The quiet here in the house feels right, with you. I can be silent with you and there's no tension or awkwardness. The quiet in the house feels like you. Even when you're not here... in a way, you still are. You've made yourself a part of this place in a way that Tim never did. Never had a chance to, really, and yet somehow, I can't be sorry about that. Thinking about this doorframe, seeing you leaning there the way you always do, hands stuffed into your pockets as you watch me fold laundry. Or that chair over there and the way I sat in your lap and we played, laughing and smiling like teenagers who couldn't keep their hands off of each other as Mark filmed us with his video camera. Only make-believe and yet it awoke feelings in me that were very, very real all the same.

I want to have one of your birthdays – or as many as time will let us share – and I want to see the delighted shock in your eyes as I hand you a neatly wrapped box. No matter how many years we will share this place together, no matter how many years I might do this for you, you will always be this surprised and something about it is so endearing and yet so bittersweet. Because deep down, I fear that you'll always believe that you don't deserve it. And that's even more reason to make sure to have something fabulous for you each year, each present more and more extravagant than the year before. A pair of the softest Italian leather gloves, a fancy gold fob for your keychain, a trip to the tailor to get your favorite jacket fitted, a sedate little gray wool cap, because I know you'd admired Alice's so much. I still don't know who made hers, but this one will look so much better on you.

And I promise that I'll always be surprised when I find that you've gotten me something for my birthday, because it seems as though you're always hiding mine! In my bed, tucked underneath my pillow, sitting on the middle shelf in the fridge when I go to grab the orange juice, laying on the nylon cushions of the swing on the back porch, waiting for me. It's a playful side of you that you don't let many people see, but it makes my birthday special in a way that the passage of another year just doesn't, anymore. And don't think I don't know how much you love to torture me. 

You won't ever tell me where you've hidden my present this year, so I have to search the house from top to bottom, and you just sit back and let me. No matter how frustrated or aggravated I get, you don't say a word – you just keep right on reading the newspaper, casually and calmly turning each thin page and saying nothing. You think I'm smart and that I'll figure it out. Sometimes I get the feeling that you think I'm a lot smarter than I am, or you're not as smart. I'm not sure which it is, but I'm smart enough to know one thing: you never give yourself any credit.

I want to grab your hands and spin and spin until we both get dizzy and go flying and falling into the grass, laughing and still holding on and laughing so hard that we couldn't let go even if we wanted to. I want to do a turn for you in a pretty new dress and see your eyes light up and see the heat and yearning in them when they land on me. I want to watch as you patiently attempt to teach Sounder how to sit up, using bits of tiny dog biscuits as incentive, encouraging him in your gentle, hopeful way. I want to see you laugh delightedly, cuddle him and playfully tousle his fur about when he finally gets it right, the sounds of his gleeful yipping bouncing off the walls because he's made you laugh. And me laughing as the two of you roll about on the floor, you not even the slightest bit concerned about getting dirty.

I want to help you decorate our home in red and green and gold for Christmas, because it's been too long since you had a place of your own, much less one you could decorate. And because I'd like to see if the green of your eyes is as dark as the leaves of fresh mistletoe. I want to wrap you up in gaudy red tinsel and make you my captive until we're covered with pine needles and we're stuck picking silvery plastic icecicle strands from each other's hair for a week.

I want to be content with just wanting and not having. I want to just be grateful that you're here, even if you're not mine. I want to feel blessed that I get to be close enough to hear each of your breaths and every one of your heartbeats.

Because I am.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gathering together a lot of my fics from various fandoms written under various pseudonyms that have been scattered all over the internet for years. This is one of those fics.


	6. Early to Rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the early morning hours, Paige and Jenny have a talk.

It's so early that only the smallest, dimmest rays of sunlight are trickling out over the horizon – just enough to turn the sky thrilling shades of pink, mixed with the rich blue of night that's still trying to hang on. I find myself getting up and moving like I'm still caught in Dreamworld somewhere, knee-deep in the quicksand of sleep, rubbing at my eyes as I fix a pot of coffee in the kitchen. I have to be quiet, because Shay is laying in his cot, fast asleep in the living room, but it seems as though he's just as heavy a sleeper as you are – I accidentally drop a spoon on the floor and it makes a loud clatter, but he doesn't even stir. 

I steal a couple of your cigarettes from the pack sitting on the kitchen table and sneak out with my coffee, taking a seat on the back porch and gathering my sweater around myself. The cigarette held between my lips, it stays there until I find the lighter hidden in one of the pockets of my pajama pants and I light it, taking a deep drag and chasing it with a sip of coffee.

I don't get up this early, usually, unless there's something I have to do, but today, my schedule is open and empty and it's just me and my coffee and wondering if you might like to go to the Planet later, after you've dropped Shay off at school.

Shifting about on the porch step, I glance over my shoulder through the back door which I've left sitting open, eyes lingering on your brother as he sleeps. I set my coffee cup aside and draw my knees up to my chest, taking a drag off of my cigarette as I watch him breathe, marveling at the depth of each breath. Inhaling the entire world with all the gusto of a child. I've never seen you sleep – I've only seen you after, in the morning, when you're trying to rouse yourself into facing the day with cup after cup of eye-poppingly strong espresso – and I find myself wishing I could see you, watch you like this sometime. 

Bette was right. You make such a wonderful mother. At first, I worried about you both. About you and Shay. You were so sad, when you came home. Broken. And there was nothing I could do. I felt... completely at a loss, so fucking helpless. There was nothing I could do to stop the train wreck, no way to shield you even as you opened yourself up for that agony, sliced to bloody ribbons by your own doubts. For a while – just a little while – I was angry. Because you left. You just left! You didn't say a word to anyone but Alice -- and I... something in me hurt so much, because of the way you left like that. Why didn't you come to me? Why didn't you ask for my help? Why didn't you let me help you? 

It didn't take long to forgive you. Not after I saw the bruises on your face and that hollowed-out look in your eyes. I didn't know where the bruises came from and I didn't ask. You didn't tell me, but then I didn't really _have_ to ask, either. You hit the wall, just like I knew you would. I guess it really didn't matter which wall it was. Somehow, somewhere along the way, you just did - some way, it just happened and it was what had to happen, I guess. I knew, then, when I saw your face that I would never stay angry - that I couldn't - because you were beating up on yourself hard enough without any help from any of us, that you were heaping more guilt on yourself than you could ever begin to make up for in this lifetime. 

_“He's asleep?” I asked softly. You nodded and took a seat across from me at the table, the fingertips of one hand fidgeting with the corner of one of the place mats: curling it up and then letting it fall back into place again. You never fidgeted, before. The sight of it was strange and unnerving and endearing all at the same time._

_“I don't know what I'm gonna do, Jenny,” you whispered and then you blinked and looked over at me, almost as though those weren't the words you were expecting would come out and you were checking to make sure I'd heard them, too. The tone of your voice – you sounded so desperately afraid, like it was choking you. "I don't know what the fuck I'm gonna do."_

_I looked away and started doing some fidgeting of my own – picking up the cork from the bottle of sauvignon and fiddling with it. I'd picked up the bottle in San Francisco, after the book signing and, god, how I wished you could have gone with me to be there with me for that first book signing, Shane. It was so fucking surreal. I'd needed to see you there, standing out at the edges of the crowd, arms folded and listening and smiling as I read an excerpt of the book, looking so proud of me. I'd needed you there so much._

_I think that... I think that's where it came from. The anger. Not from you leaving Carmen, but from leaving us -- all of us – without a word or an explanation. Nothing. Just _c'est la vie_ , _au revoire_ and _bon nuit_ and that's it. Just making us – me – have to do without you for however long, until you decided to come back. I didn't like the way that felt. It reminded me too much of everyone else I've ever known in my fucking life. _

__... you are the most loyal... friend... I've ever had in my life... and you've never left our sides when things have become dark... __

_And yet you left us when things in your own life had gotten dark – as dark as they'd probably ever been – and never gave me a chance to help, never even let me try and as much as I didn't want to admit it – it hurt..._

_I didn't know what to say to you. The thought of children had always scared the shit out of me and still did, even then, but here you were, now, with a kid and you were saying that to me – like I'd know what to do, somehow. I was just as clueless as you were. And I was sorry. Sorry that I didn't have the answers for you. More than anything, I wanted to be able to have them so that I could give them to you, but I just... I just didn't._

_“Maybe you could... look for his --” I got hung up on the words. Look for who? His father, who'd abandoned you not once, but twice? The mother, who'd been the one to leave him on our doorstep, minus the bassinet tied with baby-boy-blue silk ribbons? Pursing my lips, I brought the wineglass up to them and took a sip of my wine, brushing my hair out of my eyes. “Look, don't worry about it, okay? There's plenty of room for him here. He can stay here.”_

_“Really?” You asked me, then, looking up from beneath the jungle of your dark, tangled hair and I couldn't help but wonder when was the last time you brushed it? Washed it? Your eyes were uncertain, shuttered._

_“Yeah. Really,” I said, feeling a smile immediately settle into place on my lips and it felt at home, there, that smile. “As long as he needs to. It's totally cool. Okay?”_

_“Thanks, Jen,” you said softly, smiling despite the cut on your lip as you bowed your head. Always so grateful, so obliged, so indebted and even now, I still don't fucking know why. “Thank you.”_

_“Hey,” I whispered, leaning over to rest the tips of my fingers lightly on your arm, carefully avoiding your injured wrist. After a moment, you looked up, meeting my eyes hesitantly and I could see the worry blooming in them, the dread. Oh, god, what did you think I was going to say? Something about Carmen? Were you expecting me to tear into you over leaving her, now, in the state you were in? I couldn't even imagine, but I had to banish the thoughts of it, the fear of that... whatever it was. “I'm so fucking glad that you came home.”_

_There came that slow, relieved smile and you reached for my hand with your uninjured one, seeking and capturing my fingers with yours and bringing my hand to your lips, lightly kissing my knuckles. “So am I,” you whispered back as you lowered my hand, giving my fingers a careful squeeze. You sounded so tired, but relieved._

_Somehow, that touch reminded me and I looked down at your other hand, your injured wrist swollen up to about twice its usual size. “Do you think it's broken? Did you need me to take you to the ER?” I asked quietly._

_“No,” you said, shaking your head as you lowered my hand further, resting it on the forearm of your injured arm and lightly covering it with your free hand. “No, I don't – I don't have any insurance. It's cool. I'll just put some ice on it or something.”_

_“Max left some of his old ACE bandages in my room, you know,” I began quietly. “I could get them and wrap up your wrist for you, if you want me to.”_

_You considered that for a moment and then offered me a soft, grateful smile, still tinged with uncertainty. “Okay,” you murmured, nodding. “Thanks.”_

_“You're welcome,” I said, smiling as I took one last sip of my wine and stood, setting the glass on the table beside your elbow. “Here, drink that. It might help with the pain, a little. I'll go get that thing so we can take care of your wrist. Okay?”_

_Reaching for the glass of wine with your good hand, you looked up at me and your smile was tiny, but there, your eyes shining with warmth. “Yeah,” you whispered._

_“Yeah,” I said, my smile broadening as I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead, reaching up for a moment to carefully smooth your hair with both hands before I could force myself to walk away for even a moment._

So I let it all go and I forgave you, because I love you more than anything on this earth and I knew you needed at least one person who'd be there. Who could accept the absence of answers from you, the wounded silence.

When I got home from my book signing that night and found you with this little boy who looked eerily so much like you, I couldn't even begin to think of what to say. I didn't know how he'd wound up there at my -- our -- house, but when you told me who he was and that his mother had left him there, abandoned him, I just wrapped you up in my arms and held on. I could feel you shivering and could see the tear streaks on your face, even in the dim light, but I just held on until you could breathe again. You were so terrified and all I could do was hang on. I think I was scared, too, then... even if I didn't realize it, at the time. I was scared for both of you.

If you'd asked me before Shay came how I'd deal with having a kid in the house, I would have probably said not very well, but ... no, I like him. I really do. He's sweet and quiet and surprisingly serious for a nine-year-old. Well, any nine-year-old that's not your brother. And sometimes he does remind me so much of you; when he smiles and especially when he gets that wary look in his eyes. I feel sad for him – that he's so young and already he has reason to doubt that the world is anything but absolutely perfect and safe and good. I don't mind kids as much as I did, before. Not that I really _minded_ them, exactly, I just didn't really know what they were all about. 

Seeing you with him, taking care of him, it's like watching a magic act. The way you deal with his sour, sulky moods with patience and gentleness, turning grumpy frowns into grudging smiles and then bright, unburdened laughter. The way you hug him, like you're trying to draw him into yourself... like he's a piece of you that's been missing for years and you want it back, now. That's what I see when I look at him: you, undamaged and still innocent and still pure in so many ways. 

I wish there was some way to give you back that part of yourself, but it's as gone as gone can be. But being with Shay, having him here, is good for you - even I can see that. And you love him and he loves you and what else is there, really?

"Hey...! I didn't think anybody else would be up this early!" 

And there's the other reason why I think you might be getting better. Looking up, I find Paige, smiling hesitantly, sheepishly, as she tip-toes out onto the back porch in her bare feet. She's wearing a pale yellow camisole and a pair of snug blue lacy boyshorts and her hair is a sweet blond rumple. She whispers as she speaks, but somehow, her voice still comes out louder, croakier than it should - as if her voice doesn't know how to work with a whisper. Just like you, she has a voice that's not meant for whispering.

"Hi," I whisper, smiling brightly as I lift my hand up in a wave. “Good morning!”

"Am I disturbing you? Because if I am, I can --" Paige begins, gesturing behind her into the house, already starting to backpedal. 

"No, no...! No, come outside -- it's okay," I reply, shaking my head even as I gesture for her to join me. I pat a place on the porch step. "You're allowed! You're not bothering me."

"Okay... thanks," she says, her smile taking on a relieved edge to it. She moves to step out onto the porch, but then sees the cup of coffee in my hand and points at it, arching her eyebrow. "Actually, I think I might grab a cup of coffee, first, if that's okay?"

"Sure, absolutely," I say, nodding. "Help yourself! There's soy milk in the fridge and the sugar's on the counter, by the stove, if you want any."

"Okay, thanks," she replies, flashing another quick, dazzling smile as she ducks back into the kitchen. It takes her a couple of minutes, but she's soon tip-toeing back out onto the porch, licking some soy milk off of her thumb as she comes out. She takes a seat next to me on the porch and I scoot back a bit on the step to make room for her. 

The first time I met Paige, I was really surprised at how tall and big she was. Even taller than me than you are. I think she could probably rest her elbow on the top of my head without even having to bend or lean. She's like this blond, fierce Amazon woman and yet, at the same time, even though she's so much taller and bigger, she doesn't intimidate me – there's something about her that's so gentle and genuine and I'm glad for it. 

"So how are you, this morning?" Taking a sip of her coffee, she cradles the cup in her two hands, shoulders hunching and she seems to draw in on herself like you do, sometimes, trying to make herself smaller. For some reason, I immediately feel sorry for thinking what I did... you know, about how big she is.

"I'm good," I reply, taking a sip of my own coffee, reaching up to smooth my hair out of my face with my free hand as I swallow. Sitting there, watching her, that's when I realize: I really don't know what to say to her. She's nice enough and I'm pretty sure she's nice to you, Shane, but... I just don't know what to say. "How are you?"

"Uhh, wow... well, that's... that's a really good question, actually," Paige says, letting out a husky, breathless laugh. Her expression turns serious, her eyes murky with concern as she looks over at me. "Jenny, can I -- do you think I could talk with you about something?"

"Yeah, sure! Absolutely, yes," I reply, eyes widening slightly as I nod. "Whatever you want to talk about. What's on your mind?"

"I -- it's -- I wouldn't ask, normally," she says, looking a bit uncomfortable as she scratches at her cheek, "because, I mean -- I hardly know you, right? It's just that I think this is pretty important and you seem to be one of the best people to ask."

"Ask me about what?" I tilt my head, favoring her with a curious look as I take a drag from my cigarette. 

"It's just that... Shane. She's really quiet, isn't she?" Paige asks, brows furrowed as she looks over at me. 

I feel my lips shaping into a warm smile once the last of the cigarette smoke has escaped from them. "Sometimes," I agree. 

"I mean, is she -- is that a-a bad thing? Is it something I should be worried about?" I can see her distress growing more severe and I reach out, lightly placing my hand on her forearm. 

"Paige, no. No, no, it's not," I say, shaking my head. I take another deep drag on my cigarette, trying to collect my thoughts and find the best way to put them into words. "Shane is a very -- she's just a very... private person."

Paige looks up at me and I can see her searching my face. "Yeah?" Her look is expectant, brows lifting slightly. Maybe she wants to be reassured, I don't know. All I can tell her is what I know.

"Yes," I confirm. "She was... alone in her life for a long time and I think she just got used to things being that way. She doesn't really know how to be... you know, around people, sometimes. She doesn't mean to do it. It's just how she is."

"Do you..." Paige begins carefully, only to let out a ragged, embarrassed laugh. "This is gonna sound so pathetic, but... do you think she's... do you think she's happy? With me? With us?"

Lips twisting, I sit back in my seat a bit, and think about all of the times I've seen the two of you together. I see the way Paige clings to you, the way she looks at you, and it reminds me so much of the way it feels when I look at you. Like you're just... magic. And I see the way you lean into Paige when you don't realize you're doing it, the way you stroke her hair when she turns her head away from you to talk to someone, the way your fingers find their way into tangling with hers whenever they're not doing something. The way you care for Jared just like he was your own blood, buying him presents and doting on him. I'd say you're a pushover, but I know that's not true. Because Shay and Jared both adore you and somehow manage to do so without being tempted to walk all over you or try to wind you around their grubby little fingers at the same time, the way children of that age usually do. It's almost like they know... you're something special and it's like they know not to take advantage, because who knows when they'll ever find something like it again? 

"Yeah, I --" I feel something in my throat catch and I cough a little, flicking ashes from the end of my cigarette as I swallow. "Yeah, I, uhh... yeah, I do. I really do."

"It's just, y'know, it's hard enough, being a single mom, trying to find a guy who wouldn't take one look at Jared and make a run for it, but with Shane, it's... scarier, you know?" Paige says, eyebrow lifting slightly as she looks over at me and I can see the dread in her eyes. 

"Why scary?" I ask, meeting her eyes steadily as I shrug.

"Because it's not just _my_ life. It's Jared's life, too. And when Shane got involved with me, she got both of us in the bargain and I'm scared that it's going to be too much for her," she murmurs, bowing her head, that lush blond hair falling into her face, hiding it. Another way that she reminds me of you. 

"I know she wants a family, Paige," I say as I set my coffee cup aside, wrapping my arms around my knees and hanging on. "She's said before that she'd like to have kids someday. I don't know... maybe she thinks she's ready, now." 

"I hope so," Paige says, trying to force levity into her tone, though her expression is approaching anguished. I get the feeling that expression is one she makes a lot. "I hope so, y'know, 'cause I can't afford to hedge my bets with somebody who's not going to be there. I... she's been so great with Jared and Shay and... I could see us, having a life. Having a _good_ life, you know? Together? With carpools and skateboarding playdates at Wax with the boys' friends and just this very, very normal, very simple, very --"

"Gay life?" I finish for her, tilting my head as I regard her. "Because that's what it'll be, Paige, if you stay with Shane. It'll be a gay fucking life and I think you really do need to ask yourself if that's what you want."

"I've already told Shane I don't really think of myself as gay _or_ straight," Paige notes, taking a sip of her coffee. 

"Right, but... she _is_ ," I point out. I lift my cigarette to take a drag and see that it's burned down clear to the filter and so I drop the butt into the ashtray sitting beside me with a sigh. "Shane _is_ gay. Shane is very gay and she can't hide that and she doesn't want to. I mean, please, don't hate me, okay. I'm not trying to scare you off or put you on the spot, I just really want you to think about this for a minute. Have you ever been in a relationship with another woman?"

"Well, no, but I really don't see --"

"Okay, sorry, but just... I'm sorry, just..." I interrupt, holding up my hand. "That's all you needed to say." Taking a deep, deep breath, I let it out slowly as I gaze out over the backyard and the shed where Max is most likely still asleep, just like Shane and Shay in the main house. "I think you _should_ be wondering whether or not this is the right thing to do. For yourself and Jared, but for Shane, too, because she's been hurt so fucking much, man, and so horribly. Think about it and think about what it will be like, walking hand-in-hand with her down a street that's somewhere not in West Hollywood."

"I'm not afraid of any homophobic assholes," Paige replies, an edge of determination and heat in her voice, eyes flashing. Wow. You've found yourself a real fucking warrior woman, here, Shane. She's... kind of scary, like this.

"But it's not _just_ that," I say, sighing as I rake my hands through my hair. "It's not just that, Paige, it's not just the assholes. It's your family, it's the schools, it's the fucking police, it's everybody and everything and everywhere. It's living the life, every single second of every day and knowing that Jared is a part of that life and being _proud_ of it _all_."

"Do you -- do you think she's proud of me? Of us?" She asks haltingly and I don't have to ask her who she means. 

"Yes," I say, without a moment's hesitation as I emphatically nod my head. "She is. That's one thing about Shane: with her, it's all or nothing. She puts all of her heart into things, people." Pursing my lips, I bow my head a bit. “It's one of the best things about her but one of the things that fucks her up the worst, too.”

“How do you mean?” Paige asks, husky voice taking on a concerned tone, as though she's ready to take up a sword and shield and defend your honor or fend off a dragon for you or something. 

“I... no, it's nothing,” I reply hastily, shaking my head vigorously along with my hands, waving them in front of me in a cutting gesture. “I – I shouldn't have said anything. Just forget I said it. Oh, fuck.”

“No – Jenny, come on, you can't just – I mean, what? What's the big deal?” A rasp of dry, humorless laughter and I can hear the desperation, there, now.

Covering my face with my hands, I take a deep breath and slowly let it out in a long, long sigh. I gather my hair up in both hands, squeezing it until I can feel my scalp pulling taut, tugging and tense and painful and waking me up a bit more. Making this all a bit more real. “Before Shane met you, even before Shay showed up, Shane was... she was seeing this woman. And her name was Carmen.”

“Okay...” Paige says. I don't continue and I can see movement out of the corner of my eye, an expectant gesture from her of 'go on'. “And? What about this Carmen?”

“She was Shane's first girlfriend, Paige,” I finish with a frown, feeling my brows knit down together. “She was – maybe about a month before you met Shane, we – all of us, we were up in Whistler, Canada and we were getting ready for Shane and Carmen's wedding.”

It's quiet for a very long time and I almost expect to hear the long, ear-splitting whistle of a bomb plummeting to earth. “Oh... oh, my god,” Paige stammers, blinking and her tanned skin seems a shade or two paler, now, almost ashen as she leans against the porch railing. “She was... really?”

I nod deliberately. “Yeah,” I whisper. “Helena – our friend, Helena Peabody, I don't know if anybody's introduced you to her, yet – paid for the whole thing, because Shane doesn't... she doesn't have any family and Carmen's family basically disowned her when Carmen told them what was going on between her and Shane. I think they were... pretty religious, so the idea of their little girl being a lesbian didn't really go over very well.”

“Oh, my god,” Paige murmurs again, shaking her head. Another blink and she looks over at me and suddenly, she seems self-conscious. “I'm – I'm sorry, I know I'm saying that a lot right now, but... oh, my god... she was... she was really gonna go through with it?”

“She was,” I confirm, nodding. “We threw her this incredible bachelor party and everything. The chateau was beautiful. The tent was beautiful. The ceremony probably would have been beautiful, too.” I don't know why I'm telling her all of this. I really should just shut the fuck up and why can't I shut up? Why do I want her to hear this? Why do I want her to know?

_...because maybe if you tell her she'll figure out why Shane left that night and then she'll know because Shane never says it and would never say it, not in a million eternities..._

“Well – okay, obviously it didn't happen,” Paige says and I can see her brain working, trying to fill in the gaps of the story for her. “She didn't go through with it.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head as I lace the fingers of both of my hands together, stretching my arms out in front of me. And I'm not telling her any more. I just can't. I've already told her too much. Taking a deep breath, I look over at her, narrowing my eyes. “I – I just really think that you should talk to Shane, okay. Not about that, but about you guys. What happened with Carmen happened and it's over now and it's done. It's history. But you guys... with you guys, this is what's important, now.”

“Yeah,” Paige says, fair brows knitting together in a troubled wrinkle as she meets my eyes. “Yeah, I'll do that.”

“Good,” I say with a deliberate nod. I look away again, that piercing stare making my skin feel itchy underneath. I reach up and dig my fingers into my hair, itching at my scalp as if to relieve that feeling. It doesn't work. “Shane's heart is so fucking big, Paige. That makes it a really good target. But I know that she's got room in her heart for you and Jared and Shay and her friends and all the million and one kids I'm sure she's imagining you guys having together someday.” The furrows over Paige's eyebrows smooth away and there's a warm smile shaping her lips, now. 

“You really love her a lot, don't you?” She asks, eyes shining and the way she says it – it's in this teasing, all-knowing, all-seeing 'mom' tone. I think I really could like her. Or maybe secretly, quietly hate her. I don't know. I can't make up my mind.

“She's my best friend,” I say softly, dutifully, as I reach for my coffee again and it feels like I'm reading it off of the page of some invisible script or cue cards someone's holding up a few feet away from us. It's the answer, it's always supposed to be the answer for everything. It's safe. _Safer._ For Paige, for me, for you. For Shay and Jared. I cradle my coffee mug to me and stare down into it and I can feel Paige's eyes burrowing into me again. She doesn't have your subtlety, Shane. You're like a microscope – distant and precise and untraceable – but she's like an electric drill, just grinding away at a point in her earnest and forthright way until she gets to the bottom of where she wants to be. Where all the answers are. “We've been there for each other through a lot of really fucked-up things.” 

My right hand strays down almost of its own accord and my palm smooths over my thigh and without even closing my eyes, I can see the white, angry scars that I know are still there, under my clothes, and I feel this sharp ache in my chest. Like this gigantic drill bit, grinding away deliberately, stubbornly at my sternum. 

“Do you... really think she thinks about us having kids?” Paige asks, sounding almost shy, but encouraged at the same time. 

Thankfully, the ache dulls a little so that I can speak. “Absolutely,” I say, turning to look over at her with a smile. “It's something that I think she's wanted for a really long time but she just never let herself believe she could have it.”

“So what do you think's changed?” She asks, aiming a serious, questioning look my way.

I open my mouth to speak and I just can't. I just can't say any more. This is none of my business at all and oh, my god, I can't believe myself. “I don't know,” I reply at last, forcing a puzzled note into my response as I shrug. I don't want to say that it's because of Paige and who she is, because I don't know. I don't know what's changed and I don't want to guess and be wrong, because I'm afraid she might hold you to it. As if I'm speaking for you. I'm in so way over my head, here. Fuck. “I --”

“Hey...” Oh, thank you. Thank you, thank you for showing up when you do, Shane. Thank you. Your voice is like this rough, muzzy-sounding gift from heaven and I feel my lips pulling back into a smile as I turn my head. 

There you are, standing in the doorway, and you're rubbing at your left eye with the heel of your hand and whether you're trying to clear the sleep away or attempting to massage your brain into wakefulness from the outside, I'm not sure, but you look so adorable. You're dressed in some baggy black pajama bottoms and a blue tank and your feet are bare as you shuffle outside to join us on the porch. I don't know how you manage it, seeing as how you're rubbing one eye and the other is squinched closed, but something about the idea of you knowing your way around the house even without seeing pleases me in a weird way.

“Good morning, sleepy head!” Paige greets and god, she is just _such_ a mom, isn't she? “Are you up?”

“Mmmph... sorta,” you mumble as you pad over to us and let your hand drop from your face, both eyes opening to half-mast as you ease yourself down a couple of steps and take a seat between Paige and I. You sit down heavily, hands folding together in your lap. You're obviously too sleepy to really negotiate as gracefully as you usually would and Paige is laughing as she reaches out to stroke your hair out of your face. 

“Oh, honey, you're still so out of it,” she murmurs, grinning indulgently as she strokes your cheek. “Do you want me to get you some coffee or something?”

“Mm-mm,” you hum, shaking your head in the negative carefully so as not to dislodge Paige's hand from your cheek. 

“Shane, here,” I say, biting my lip as I reach out and lightly rest my hand on your shoulder as I hold out my mug to you. Your skin is fresh out-from-under-the-covers warm to the touch and I feel a bit of a strange thrill at it. There's something so intimate about it, seeing you at this point in your day. “Have some of mine.”

“Oh...” Your head turns and your eyebrows try to lift a bit but nope, no luck. That portion of your brain still isn't on board yet. They quirk maybe a quarter of an inch and then drop back down again. The same thing with your smile which is blindingly bright and sweet, if sadly fleeting as you reach out and take the offered mug. You reach out with your free arm, hooking it around my neck and drawing me in close as you press a sleep-muzzy kiss of gratitude to my temple. “Mmm. Thank you. I'll be right back. I'm gonna go get some...” you begin, already drawing back to stand and presumably head to the kitchen to doctor your coffee. 

“No, no, Shane, there's soy milk and sugar in there, already,” I say, reaching out to pat your thigh. “It's okay.”

“Oh,” you say again, sounding fuzzily surprised but delighted all the same as you stare down into the mug for a moment before bringing it to your lips to take a long drink. Even that tiny bit of caffeine is enough to get your cylinders firing and as you lower the mug, you glance at Paige and then turn and look over at me, a curious expression on your face. “So, what's up? What have you guys been talking about out here?”

My lips draw back into a bright smile in spite of myself and I laugh. “Umm, I was just...”

“We were just --” Paige begins at the exact same moment and we share a brief glance and her sheepish laughter matches mine perfectly. We both fall silent and it quickly turns awkward and you're looking back and forth between the two of us like you're at a Wimbledon tennis match, arching your eyebrows – ahh, so the caffeine is finally kicking in, after all. “You know what? I'm... going to go and put some clothes on and then I'm going to make us all some breakfast.” Fuck. Nice save. Paige leans over and gives you an affectionate, smacking kiss on the cheek – complete with 'mmmmmmmwah!' - and grins as she rises to her feet and starts into the house. 

“Ohh, no, Paige – you don't --” You start to say, twisting around a bit and watching her as she goes, still looking a little confused. You turn back to me, brows knitted. “She doesn't have to do that. Why is she doing that?”

“Paige, did you want my help?” I call, giggling a bit as I rest my hand on your knee. 

“No, I'm fine! You two just relax. I know where everything is,” she yells back, her voice growing distant as she disappears down the hall, headed towards your room.

A hint of a grin starts to creep up onto your lips and another giggle escapes me. “She's such a mom,” I whisper, quickly covering my mouth with my hand. I can't help it. She is!

“Yeah, she is,” you drawl, your grin turning into a warm, proud smile and I feel something tugging on my heart, as if a clothes hanger has been fed through my ribcage, like car thieves do when they're trying to unlock someone's door. You take another sip of your – my – our coffee and your hand settles gently at the crown of my head, just resting there. Something about the weight of your hand there causes this incredible warmth to spread all along my skin, starting at the top of my head and sliding all the way down to my toes – making me feel loved, held, grounded. “So what _were_ you guys talking about?”

“We were talking...” I begin, leaning into you as I reach up and link my arm with yours. I draw your hand away from my head and lean my head on your shoulder, instead. “Uhh, Paige and I were talking... about you... and how fucking amazing you are.”

“ _Jen_ \--” You start, sounding impossibly embarrassed as you duck your head. 

“Yes, Shane?” I ask softly, my lips drawing back into a bright smile as I laugh. I'm trying to sound angelic but it's probably not working. You know me better than that. 

You purse your lips and I can see you're fighting a smile, a fondly exasperated glint in your eyes as you lift your head to look at me. “Nothing,” you say at last and I'm disappointed by it, a little. Lifting the mug you still hold in your other hand, you finish off the last of its contents and, licking your lips, you grin as you meet my eyes. Even with the coffee, your eyes are still heavy-lidded and black and lovely. “Let me go get you some more coffee.”

“Okay,” I reply sweetly, still smiling as I reach up and cup your right cheek, pressing a kiss to the left even as you're shifting on the step to stand. “Thank you, Shane.”

“Welcome,” you say, a chuckle in your voice as you gather yourself to your feet. My hand slips from your face and you gently disentangle your arm from mine and I feel something in the quiet part of my heart tighten in a tiny moment of panic as I lose touch with you. 

Before I realize it, you're shifting around on the step and bending over at the waist to press a kiss into the hair at the crown of my head – the same spot where your hand had been resting a couple of minutes before. My lips draw back into a warm smile and as I tilt my head up to look at you, your right eyelid dips in a quick wink as you head back up the steps, bound for the kitchen.

I wind both of my arms around myself tightly, trying to make up for the loss, but they don't quite do the trick. Twisting about on the step a bit, I lean forward and watch as you pad into the kitchen, feet cat-quiet on the linoleum, eyes straying over to where Shay is burrowed down beneath his wasabi-green El Panda comforter. I think I see a tiny smile twitch up one corner of your mouth as you move over to the counter where the coffee press sits, out of my view. I find myself wishing that your father forgets that you and Shay ever existed, so that Shay can stay with you. Taking care of him makes you so happy and I know you'd be the kind of guardian he'd always deserved. The kind of parent you deserved when you were his age.

I see Paige make her way back into the kitchen, having slipped into a pair of well-worn jeans, fingers combing through her hair and drawing it back into a messy ponytail as she crosses over to where you're standing at the counter. Out of sight, tucked behind the back door where I can't see either of you. 

“Hey...” I hear Paige say, voice low and rumbly and intimate and I look away, trying to tell myself it's rude and wrong to eavesdrop, but there's still another part of me that says that she has to know I'm still sitting out here, just feet from where you two are standing, so if I overhear something, it's not entirely my fault. I imagine her slipping her arms around your waist and I hear the sound of lips kissing. 

“Hey,” you say to her, warmth evident in the still-dozy murmur of your voice. I can hear the smile in it. There are sounds of coffee being poured and the scent sneaks out through the back door and drifts over to me.

“Did you want me to wake up Shay?” Paige asks. There's a beat and then she chuckles and it's a mischievous sound.

“Hey --!” You blurt out, but quickly lower your voice to a whisper so that you don't disturb Shay. “That's Jenny's!”

“You can pour her another cup,” she says and her tone is even but playful and I feel my face grow hot, like I've opened up an oven and the hot air has wafted over my cheeks. Closing my eyes, I duck my head down until my cheek is pressed against my knee. 

You don't say anything for a moment, but I hear the clink of ceramic against ceramic, pulling another mug down from the cabinet for me. “I'll wake him up,” you say after a moment, the sound of coffee filling the second mug accompanying your words. “I'll let him sleep a few more minutes.”

“Enjoying the quiet for as long as you can, huh?” Paige asks with a throaty chuckle. 

“No...” You reply after a moment of hesitation, the protest sounding half-hearted. I know you love Shay. You don't think of him as a burden or an inconvenience, like maybe Paige thinks of her kid. He really doesn't make that much noise. Shay, I mean. 

“Oh, honey, I'm only joking,” she says, that same sweetly sporting tone in her voice and I hear the sounds of a mug being set down on the counter, footsteps receding. 

I find myself wondering – really wondering – about whether I've ever called you 'honey' before. For a few moments, I'm wracking my brain, trying to remember if I've ever called you by anything but your name. I can't think of any time I might have done that. It feels strange, but at the same time... I love your name and I don't really see any point to calling you anything else. I know Alice calls you 'Shaney' sometimes and you use plenty of pet names yourself – calling Tina 'T' or Alice 'Al', calling people 'honey' or 'sugar' or 'baby' when the mood takes you – but I don't remember you calling me any other names but my own. Jenny or, sometimes, Jen. No matter which one you choose, I still love the way you say it. Would it be weird, if I called you something other than your name? If I called you honey? Or baby? I don't know. 

“You want my help?” I hear you ask and I feel my lips draw back into a smile in spite of myself. 

“No, no – you go. Sit out back with Jenny for a little while and get woken up. I've got everything under control in here,” Paige says and I can hear the sounds of the fridge opening as she speaks. 

“Okay, as long as you're sure...” There are sounds of footsteps approaching the back door and I straighten up a bit, seeing you through the small panes of glass set into the door. 

“Go on, shoo!” Paige replies with a chuckle. “I'll let you know when it's ready.”

“Okay,” you let out a husky huff of laughter as you slip out through the back door and I can see that you're carrying two cups of coffee. 

“You didn't have to do that,” I say with a smile. I light the other cigarette I'd stolen from your pack and take a couple of quick puffs to get it started as you join me on the steps. 

“It's cool,” you say easily, shoulder hitching up briefly in a shrug, your voice still a warm, rumbly purr and it sounds as though you could fall asleep any minute. Maybe that's why you take a long, deep drink from your coffee mug as soon as you're seated, holding the other mug out to me as you do so. 

I take the mug from you and my lips shape into a smile again as I pull the cigarette from between them. I hold it up to you with the filter facing towards you, even as I nestle closer to you. I fit myself against your side as I rest my head on your shoulder, my right arm anchoring around your waist . You duck your head an inch or so and wrap your lips around the cigarette's filter, taking a drag from it as it's held securely between my fingers. You let out a soft, contented hum as you draw back a bit, releasing the filter, and exhale, carefully aiming the smoke out of the corner of your mouth so that it doesn't get blown back into our faces. There's a softer answering noise from me and I let my head settle against your chest and close my eyes, your strong, steady heartbeat resounding through my head.

“You awake yet?” You ask and I hear the sound of you setting your mug down on the step. Pretty soon, I feel you reaching around behind me to take my mug and set it down beside yours, your hand gently smoothing over my rumpled hair. 

“Mm-mm,” I hum, shaking my head just a tiny bit. If I move it too much, I'll break the spell, snap myself out of this wonderfully quiet, calm trance and I want to hang on to this for as long as I possibly can. The closeness, the scent of your skin just centimeters from my nose, that same smell clinging to the wash-worn softness of your clothes. “Not even a teeny, tiny bit.”

“Okay,” you whisper, the softest chuckle escaping with the response, and your hand moves in continuous gentle strokes over my hair. “That's okay. I can wake you up when it's time for breakfast.”

“Kay,” I whisper back, wrapping my left arm around your waist to join my right as I snuggle in and burrow closer, face nuzzling your throat. I feel a touch to my arm and realize that you haven't stopped stroking my hair... you've just slipped your other arm around me, too. I feel a sigh escape me and my arms tighten around your waist a bit.

It's not that I begrudge Paige the time that she has with you. Or that I begrudge her any attention or affection you give her. I don't resent her – I actually think she's a very nice lady and I think the two of you are great together. 

It's just that... when there's this... it makes it so hard to remember that you're not mine. And that makes this a dangerous thing. A very dangerous thing that I shouldn't be doing. That **we** shouldn't be doing. But then I remind myself that your arms are holding me just as tightly as my arms are holding you and there's this tiny twinge... that maybe I'm not the only one who forgets. 

And thinking about that helps. A little. 

At least until the next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gathering together a lot of my fics from various fandoms written under various pseudonyms that have been scattered all over the internet for years. This is one of those fics.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gathering together a lot of my fics from various fandoms written under various pseudonyms that have been scattered all over the internet for years. This is one of those fics.


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